


Infamous as an Ocean

by FeoplePeel



Series: Infamous as an Ocean [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), inFAMOUS (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Conduit Fic, M/M, Minor Alana Bloom/Beverly Katz, Murder Family, Mutant Politics, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a registered Conduit whose skills as a Reader make him highly sought after. Still, his untrained status keeps even his own kind wary of him. Out of his depth on an unregistered Conduit case, Jack Crawford pulls Will out of his sedentary life and into the blood and politics of their ever-changing world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will ends his lecture and he hits Wolf Trap ten minutes earlier than usual. He is greeted by the sight of Jack on his front porch, his dogs sitting at the man's legs, traitorously.

"Jack." Will walks right past him.

Jack laughs. "You've been avoiding me."

"Not well enough." The other counters. "Don't tell me what you want and I won't say no."

"We need you on this, Will."

"You're behavioral science. Why are you wasting your time tracking down unregistered conduits?"

"Because _this_ one is killing young girls."

"How do you know it's a conduit." It's a long shot but Will feels he has to ask it. He wouldn't be here if they didn't know. "The guy leave a sign? 'Humans suck', maybe?"

"Walk the crime scene, Will." Jack's look had ceased pleading and Will sighs at a battle lost. "Please."

"Your last Reader," Will removes his glasses. Wipes a hand down his face. "the one who replaced me."

"Miriam." Jack supplies. His voice is lowered. Reverence? Solemnity? Will can't tell. "Miriam Lass."

"She died?"

The other man's face pinches and Will doesn't know if he's angry at himself or Will for mentioning it. "Killed. By the Chesapeake Ripper."

"Was she any good?"

Jack's arms are crossed. Defensive. "Amazing. We think she determined who the Ripper was before he," his arms unwind, fall slowly to his sides, "she was still in training."

"A _trainee_ conduit?"

"There a _point_ to this, Will?" Jack finally snaps.

"My _point_ , Jack," Will snaps back, "is I am _not_ in-training. You understand that, yes?"

"Dr. Bloom has made me aware of the situation." Jack nods and Will snorts a laugh. "And while your refusal to accept training from an accredited facility would _normally_ work against you, I've seen you in action." The other man leans in, slightly. "Will, you're a _Reader_."

Will tunes him out. He's heard it before. Hell, he's heard it from Jack, himself. Controlling the elements, that's easy. _Common_ , they say. Light? That's _accessible_. But get into a mind, work it out, shut it down.

You're a God or a pariah.

Will would rather be alone.

"One scene, Jack." Will holds up a hand to still the man's protests. "One scene and no one else comes within fifty feet. A hundred if it gets bad."

"I understand." Jack nods. "I'll call ahead to cordon off the area."

"We're going now?"

"Trust me," the man slings on his jacket, "you'll want to see this one fresh."

 

* * *

Will decides that Beverly Katz is charming an hour after meeting her. A new record.

Unlike previous record holder, Alana Bloom, who charmed him after a week of association, Beverly seems unconcerned about Will's personal space. Unafraid to be alone with him. This is a problem with most conduits, and people if he feels like being honest, and Will had grown used to a solitary life.

Beverly is twenty feet away while he is walking the scene. He can't see her, yet, but he can feel her there. She's a bright spot on the edge of the viscera and gore. He can't shut it out.

"I can't concentrate, Katz."

"Oh," he doesn't know what she does, but the brightness dims and he shuts his eyes, "sorry."

"It's fine." Will replies. Beyond her light and the smell of blood, there is no focus. "What's your element?"

"Luminescence," she says and Will nods in understanding, "well, man-made light. I have to draw from a source. Kind of sucks at night when it's all neon signs."

Will feels his lips pull into a smile, imagines pink and blue fireworks shooting from her fingertips. "How did you end up in the BAU?"

"The Facility assigned me at the greenhouse working with the botanists. A lot of plants and no real forensics. I hated it, but I met Price, there. I wanted to work with the BAU since before I knew what I was." She glances at her hands. "They were the first division to accept conduits so I jumped ship."

"Smart move." Will opens his eyes, stares at the body in front of him. Elise Nichols is the picture of tranquility, strangled and placed back into her bed, more asleep than dead. There is very little blood. It's all in his head-space, the man's past crimes slowly building together in his head. There isn't a clear picture yet. Only meat. "Trained manifests are in high demand with the FBI. They're lucky to have you."

Will's eyes make it to Beverly's lips, pulled into a smile. "How'd you know I'm not a natural?"

"Most don't need a source." He pauses, debating. "And you kind of glow. No offense." She chuckles, hands raised.

"You're a natural, right?" Bev asks and he relaxes, slightly. "Lucky guess. Miriam was a manifest. Her method was different, to say the least. "

And even harder to control, he wagers, though he keeps the thought to himself. Beverly's emotions towards the girl are softer, less aggressive than Jack's, but still raw like a nerve. He doesn't want to damage her.

"How do yours work?"

"Now, isn't that the question?" He sees she's still waiting for a response. "They're complicated. I have to find a focus. A source of emotion. Something that set the killer off, something they looked at or touched. It can even be a word."

"Sounds vague."

"It's a feelings thing." Will shrugs. It _is_ vague. That's what makes it so uncontrollable. "Their focus becomes my focus. Regular people are easy. They like to focus on the mundane. Love, death, pretty, petty things. Conduits can be more difficult, especially the naturals." He straightens, examines the ceiling pattern. "The Ripper is a good example. Probably the best."

"The Ripper's a conduit?"

"Jack didn't tell you?"

"He's been working the case solo since," Beverly pauses, "for a while now. Guess he just thought it wasn't important."

"More likely he's afraid of a panic." At the woman's questioning look, he clarifies, "Maryland's most notorious, serial killer _still-at-large_ also a conduit. That won't look good in the papers."

"Best to keep it under wraps with all the pro-conduit legislation getting passed now." She jerks a nod.

"Pro-conduit," Will thinks about mandatory training and a necklace with his power marking for the world to see, "that's one way to look at it."

As always, Beverly presses. "Why? What's your read?"

"I see," He finally looks at her and, when he makes eye contact, he feels his focus like a jolt at the back of his neck. "You need to tell me something."

Beverly's eyes go glassy. "Antler velvet." She says. Something sparks behind his eyes. "I found it in two of the wounds. Mean anything to you?"

Will turns back to Elise. He hears Beverly fall behind him and then, darkness.

_A dark haired woman on a train. A small girl rolling a pumpkin towards her parents. A steel mill. Graduation day, Beverly Katz valedictorian, grabbing the red-headed woman beside her and kissing her soundly. A man and a young girl, camouflaged, hunting. The red-head leaving with packed bags and Beverly, crying, sucking the light from the room, encasing herself within it like a blanket. A small house, a family eating dinner._

_See?_

A man's voice and Will is back at the scene, Beverly taking deep breaths behind him.

"Are you all right?" He turns to help her up from the kneeling position she was in.

"I'm," she shakes her head, "yeah, I'm fine." She looks at him, accusatory. "You were in my head. I saw," she stops, unable to finish.

"I know. I'm sorry." Will looks at her eyes, briefly, smiling. "Jack _did_ warn everyone about this."

"Now I understand what they say about curiosity and cats." She is grinning, clearly shaken but holding up well. Will appreciates her candor. "So, what? I had the focus and you had to go through me to take it?"

"Something like that." Will nods, knocking on the door to call Jack in. "Antler velvet promotes healing."

"You think our killer put it there?"

"It's the focus." He responds. She's searching the wounds for more of the fiber. "I _know_ he did. The question is why."

"What did you get?" Jack asks as he enters. He gives Beverly a quick once-over, his expression part-concern, part-reprimand.

"It was a jumble." Will admits, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "Definitely a natural. The focus was difficult to find and harder to hold onto. He's a hunter. He has a family. I don't know their status. We need to look for some kind of dust or metal. Something to do with construction."

"Is that where he works, or where he's taken the other bodies?"

"Not sure." Will shakes his head. "The family's important, maybe more important than the girls. I'll need to take a look at any more antler velvet you find. There's something about this I'm missing."

"That's a lot more than we had an hour ago." Jack motions for the rest of the team to enter. "Let's get this processed and back to the lab. Graham, you ride with me."

* * *

The other fibers show him nothing. It had been the only focus so he watches the two men in the room, instead. Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price are a well-working unit, given their mismatched statuses. Price is a manifest, though it's less obvious than Beverly's. Shows more around the edges of his eyes and fingernails when he touches some of the items he's working with. Zeller may be a natural, good at hiding his status, but more likely he's human. They banter like old friends or lovers.

Zeller walks out, giving Will a wary once-over, and Price finally speaks. "Copper, untrained." Will jolts, looking at the man. He's smiling and holding out his hands, flipping the palms up and down. "You kept looking at them. Miriam said it showed more around my hands."

"Chemical conduits are rare."

"Not as rare as empathy." They both look away from one another, Will to his shoes and Price to the minerals in front of him.

"Does Zeller not know?"

"Brian's uncomfortable about it so I don't use them. I don't like to remind people I'm a conduit if I don't have to." Always careful and too courteous by half, like Alana, Will thinks with more than a little bitterness. Chemicals can get away with that.

Zeller enters and Will keeps his thoughts to himself. "Looks like your construction theory held out." The man says, handing a sheet of paper to Price. "We found traces of metal on Elise's dress. Looks like pipe-threading."

"Looks like that's not the weird part." Price mutters, examining the sheet. "The liver was removed and replaced, postmortem." He hands the sheet to Will, who has to take a step forward to retrieve it. He tries to ignore Zeller's flinch.

"Whatever he saw, he didn't like. Why?" Will leans over Elise's body, eyes tracking down to her open stomach. "Her DNA," he trailed off.

"No signs of the conduit gene." Price fills in.

"And the other girls he abducted?"

"Five naturals," Zeller speaks up, "the others had an eighty to ninety percent chance to manifest."

Will flips the paper, examines Elise's medical chart. "So did she."

"But she didn't."

"No," Will shakes his head, "she didn't."

He repeats this to Jack as the man follows him down the hall towards the front of the building. "It all comes back to family. The daughter." Will clarifies. "He's a natural, likely unregistered, but his daughter isn't. He _wants_ his daughter to manifest. To be like him."

"How do the girls tie in?"

"They're fill ins. A traumatic event can trigger a manifestation of a conduit's powers, but he can't do that to her, not yet. He's _practicing_. The girls who weren't naturals must have manifested when he killed them. They," he grinds his teeth, "passed. I could _feel_ it, Jack. He was _proud_ of them."

Jack mulls over his words until they arrive at Will's car. He slides into the driver's seat and Jack leans in over him. "I know you're not working tomorrow, but I need you to come in for this." Will sighs, grips the steering wheel a little harder. "There's someone I want you to meet."

* * *

Will took a stance regarding his powers, when he started working with the FBI and that was to never peek behind the curtain of his co-workers minds, Jack Crawford included. However, it doesn't take a genius to realize that Jack plans to introduce Will to a trainer or a therapist.

And Will is very smart.

He pulls the fire alarm so he doesn't have to figure out which. Workers shuffle out of the BAU headquarters, looking around dazedly, Beverly and Zeller among them. They notice Will in the parking lot and, to his surprise, Zeller lifts a hand in friendly greeting. Price joins them soon and Will turns to head back to his car.

"Mr. Graham."

A light accent stops him, mid-step and he turns back to face the man behind him. Older, refined, with high cheek bones and long, thin lips. His eyes are a dark, unreadable calm and Will doesn't know him.

"Have we met?"

He moves the jacket over his arm to offer Will his hand. "Doctor Hannibal Lecter." Will takes the hand after a moment. Long, dry fingers slot against his slightly sweaty own. The other man's grip is firm. Comfortable. "I believe we were supposed to meet, today, in fact."

Will pulls his hand away slowly. "You're not a therapist."

"Indeed, I am not." The man nods once.

"But you're no trainer either."

"I'm afraid I haven't the patience." He cuts off Will's line of questioning with a small smile. "I'm a friend of Alana Bloom."

"A psychiatrist." Will can hear his voice. Tries to pitch it as something that isn't flat or offensive. Something that won't give the man in front of him an edge to work with.

"I see you are not fond of eye contact."

"It's for your benefit." And mine, Will thinks, cynically. A necessity. "You may not like what I come away with."

"I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind." Hannibal's voice is like a current. Will stares at the hem of the man's pants. "Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams."

"I try not to _see_ at all." Will can feel his shoulders tense. "Is that why Jack called you here? To _profile_ me?"

"I’m sorry, Will." Hannibal responds in that same, calm tone. "Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off."

"Can't shut it off." Will chokes a laugh, looks into the man's eyes for a moment. "You may not have been so quick to come if you'd ever allowed someone like me into _your_ head."

"I have." The response stuns Will into momentary silence. "My own psychiatrist is a low-level empath. Her powers are manifest, but she is well-trained."

"A psychiatrist for a psychiatrist." Will snorts, toeing the ground. "Should I worry?"

"I find we are the ones who most often need them."

"You coming back in?" Will jumps as Beverly appears beside him in a flash of light. He turns to see everyone filing into the building as slowly as possible, likely dreading the drudgery of their continuing day. "Looks like a false alarm."

When Will looks away to face Hannibal, the other man is halfway towards the door, half-turned and waiting expectantly. With Beverly to his left, Will can sense a shroud over the taller man as he's not felt on any human. He supposes Hannibal could be a natural, but when he concentrates, there is no focus. Something even the most clever conduit can't block.

"Everything okay?" Beverly's voice is quiet and his shoulders drop. She's looking at Hannibal, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Fine." He reassures her. It's strange, having someone to reassure. "A friend of Jack's." Beverly relaxes beside him. They follow the last of the crowd inside. "How's your head?"

She places a hand to her temple. "I can see why you carry around that aspirin, now, if that's half of what you feel." She chuckles, winces, lowers her hand. "It felt like a hive of bees were in my head this morning. And the _dreams_."

"Sorry about that." Will stuffs his hands in his pocket. He's not had to feel genuinely sorry in a long time. Many people he reads are dead, now. He doesn't remember apologies being so draining. "The dreams should go away."

He spares her a glance. She still looks unsettled.

"What did you dream?" He trails behind to slow her down to his pace. He hopes Hannibal is just out of earshot and he rests his eyes on the man's broad shoulders.

"Flashes, mostly." Beverly lowers her voice. "I couldn't see everything, you know? Some old stuff." She swallows. "Elise Nichols."

Will closes his eyes and nods.

_Elise, ran through. Floating._

_A feathered stag with fur, dark as oil._

"It's an imprint from me. They'll fade." He repeats. They've reached Jack's office. Hannibal waits by the door, more than a few feet a way. It's an exceedingly _polite_ gesture and Will appreciates it.

"Why?" Beverly draws him back to her. "What do you dream?"

_See?_

"There's not much of a filter up here." Will smiles, tapping his head. "I build forts. Try not to dream at all."

She snorts, crosses her arms. "You can _try_."

He turns away, smiling and knowing how right she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just call Beverly Katz "Exposition Girl!" for that is what she is this chapter, haha! Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minnesota Shrike is copied, Hannibal and Will go on an 'adventure' and Will steals a memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised this weeks ago but since then I got engaged and started planning a wedding so I apologize!

There is another crime scene to walk. Will's arrival does not go unnoticed by the two DUP agents arguing with Jack by the bright yellow tape. They are clearly here for him, but the DUP has less pull with the government than its supporters like to think.

"I take it the Department of Unified Protection has been informed of my involvement with this case?" Will comments when Jack finally joins him. His gaze is locked on the two agents, chastised, but vibrating with tension.

"God only knows how they found out." Jack is grinding his teeth. Will can feel the man's frustration flowing off of him in waves.

"It may have been Ms. Bloom." Will walks closer to the scene, a long, pale body impaled on a set of antlers.

_Fur, dark as oil._

Jack had asked him something. Will looks to him, remembers his last words. Jack is concerned about Alana Bloom. "She's a professional." He clarifies. "It's her civic duty to report anything she sees as unsafe to humans and conduits to the nearest training facility."

"Even if it gets you arrested?"

"I'm untrained. She's worried."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Does she need to be?"

Will ignores him. Looks to the body.

The focus is easier this time and he finds it in her mouth.

_A small boy, curly hair. The taste of a cigarette. The feel of plastic, like the covering on a couch. Steel on skin._

There is no love here. Will stands, brushing the dirt from his knees. The rest of the team comes in to circle the body.

"This isn't our killer, Jack." He's mirroring the bigger man's frustration. He can feel it pull into himself and bounce out. "This is a human. Peacocking. Someone is _mocking_ us." He pats the pocket where his pills sound off dutifully. He's reluctant to pull them out in front of the DUP but his head pounds.

"He's not the only one." Zeller interrupts as Jack begins to speak. He's holding a tablet out for Jack to take. "Sorry, boss. Have you seen this?"

"Well, this explains the DUP's interest in you, at least." Jack heaves a sigh, handing Will the tablet.

His eyes land on the website Tattle-Crime.com, the words _CHESAPEAKE RIPPER A CONDUIT?_ scrawled across the top. The name Freddie Lounds rests in smaller print below. Will's skims the article, looking for his own name. He finds it several times in a most unflattering light.

"I've not spoken to a Freddie Lounds." Will hisses, releases his too-tight grip on Zeller's tablet

"You won't have to." Jack responds. "She has a _knack_ for divining certain information." Will raises an eyebrow. "No, not a Reader, just," his fists curl, uncurl, "stubborn."

Zeller pries his tablet from Will's hands, passing it off to Price and Beverly for their perusal.

Will takes a deep breath, reaching into his pocket.

* * *

Will wakes up in a hotel room, soaked through. He turns out his shirt and throws it in the washer with the sheets, hoping Beverly's nightmares have abated.

He misses his dogs.

A knock draws him to the door and he glances through the peephole. Hannibal Lecter, calm, composed and staring back, stands outside. Will opens the door.

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?"

"Where's Jack?" Will asks, tracing the stubble on his chin self-consciously.

"Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today." The other looks at him, expectant. "May I come in?"

Will examines the suit Hannibal is wearing, a brown plaid with streaks of red, and is suddenly aware of his own half-nude state. He walks back inside, leaving the door open behind him. "Sorry I wasn't expecting company." He looks around, desperately searching for something to cover him, and his eyes land on a hotel towel. He bends over to pick it up and drapes it over his shoulders in some semblance of modesty.

Hannibal is no longer looking at him, fully in the room, and setting tupperware on the small table in the kitchen area. "I brought you breakfast." Will's eyebrows draw together "I suppose you also weren't planning to wake up in an uncomfortable hotel room."

"The case went a little long." Will pulls out one of the seats and falls into it, scratching the back of his neck as the dishes reveal what look like egg and sausage. He takes a bite. "It's delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Hannibal sits, takes a bite from his own dish. "You told Jack the killer was a copycat?"

Will lets Hannibal direct the conversation. Crimes are easy. "Elise's mind was like a sponge. I could see right to the killer, even through," he breaks, swallowing, "even through Katz. I could feel his love, see his life. This killer is," he places his fork down, " _intensely_ human. Sociopathic. No real motivation. He'll probably never kill like this again."

"I've heard it said that the human mind is easier to decipher."

"It's clearer." Will elaborates. "Focuses can be a pain in the ass no matter what, but images are clearer when it's a human." He concentrates. Hannibal's mind is completely clear. There's no white noise, no clutter. The noiselessness of a man completely in control.

"And conduits?"

"Conduits bleed." When Will realizes he doesn't have to guard himself, they fall into an easier rhythm. He resumes eating. "You can see _anything_. Past, future, emotions, metaphor filtered through the subconscious."

"Like the seers of old, it is your job to divine their meanings."

Will scoffs. "Why are you here, Doctor Lecter?" Will had left Jack and Hannibal knowing exactly how he felt on the subject of psychoanalysis the prior day. They couldn't _force_ him into therapy and he damn well didn't want to continue these cases if it meant being subjected to Hannibal Lecter's prying fingers in his mind.

He could dish it out but he couldn't take it.

"I would like to continue our conversation." Hannibal interrupts his dark thoughts. "Some other time, preferably. For today, I merely wish to accompany you. See things as you see them."

"Hearing about it is one thing. You _don't_ want to see what a Reader sees."

Hannibal's smile is so light that Will disbelieves the reality of it. "I was hoping I could accompany you in your capacity as a special agent with the FBI."

Will studies the other man's hands. They're very steady on his silverware. Will finds himself curious at how his blank canvas of a mind will react to the scenes he plays in his head, night after night.

"You did want an adventure."

* * *

The receptionist at the steel mill was as helpful as Will expected. He peruses through the files she directed him to, while Hannibal looks around himself.

"You said this conduit was likely unregistered?" Hannibal's voice cuts through his thoughts.

"Yes." Will nods. "He thinks himself above humans. It's why he can't stand the thought of his daughter not manifesting. He'll kill her, if he has to, just to make it happen."

Hannibal hands him a box. "I will continue separating the humans from the conduits."

"Thanks," Will nods, "it shouldn't be too hard."

There is a moment of silence and then, "Do you feel that way, Will? The conduits, so easily seperated from the humans?"

Will almost smiles. Psychiatrists. "I haven't agreed to be your patient yet, Doctor Lecter." He chides.

"I only wish to be your friend, Will."

"I doubt that," Will snorts and the other man manages to look a little offended, "but you did bring me breakfast, so I'll be lenient about your less than altruistic motivations, just this once." Will looks up to regard him. "You find me interesting, it's fine. Anyone in your field would. But the world doesn't need a study on the light show that is my brain."

"I do find you interesting, Will Graham," Hannibal is smiling, now, despite Will's best efforts to be contrary, "and I only wish to be your friend." He repeats.

"You may regret that." Will looks away first and continues flipping through the files until a page catches his eye. The 'Conduit/Human' check box is shining like a beacon. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs." He reads aloud, pulling the paper from the stack. He hands it off to Hannibal and walks outside to talk to the receptionist. She's leaning against the trailer, cigarette in one hand, cell phone in the other.

"Anything special about Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" Will questions.

She pockets her phone. "A decent worker. Quiet." She shrugs, takes a drag. "His daughter brings him lunch sometimes." At Will's intense gaze she adds, "But a lot of the boys have wives or such that bring them food. Breaks too short and food's too far, you know?"

"Is there anywhere else we can look?" Will closes his eyes. "Anything _new_?"

She flicks the butt of her cigarette and motions across to another trailer. "Any paperwork from this month will be in the manager's trailer."

"You two go ahead." Hannibal speaks from the door behind them. "I'll clean up the mess we've made in here."

The woman's face breaks out into a grin and Will rolls his eyes. The man is a natural charmer. He nods to Hannibal, nonetheless, and follows her to the trailer across the lot. She's rummaging through a cabinet when he enters, avoiding his gaze. Will is thinking about his own lack of etiquette when she stops, suddenly. "Oh. I think I found something." He can feel her anxiety buzzing around him and reminds himself it is not his own heartbeat that quickens.

"You sound disappointed." Will steps up behind her and she tenses.

"Don't read me." She says and he takes a step back. She must have been eavesdropping, then. "I am disappointed."

"You were hoping we _wouldn't_ find anything?"

"I was _hoping_ I didn't work with a psychopath." She replies evenly, handing him a piece of paper.

A resignation letter. _We have him._ Will feels something like a grin tug at his mouth.

"Humans work with you." The other in the room tears him from his observation. She's standing with her arms gripping her elbows, now. Defensive, wary. He sees her clearly for the first time, without his powers. A girl who just left home, fiercely independent, low-level education but smart, when it counted. "I think it would drive me crazy. How do people handle it?"

"Usually?" He places the paper on the desk between them. "Like you. A lot of caution and a hint of hostility." He turns to walk out and she unfolds, following behind him. Hannibal is waiting by the car, hands folded behind his back.

"He seems nice." She sounds curious.

"He is." Will comments. He doesn't add that it's practically a psychiatrist's job to be nice or how unsure of Hannibal's human status he really is.

"This," Will is holding the car door open when she interrupts again, "this doesn't prove anything, right? You're just being thorough?"

"What do you think?"

She sighs. "I think I'm using my vacation time this week."

"I think that's a good idea."

* * *

Garrett Jacob Hobbs sees them as they approach. Will knows this house.

_A small house..._

A woman is dying on the steps. Hannibal kneels to watch the life drain from her eyes. Will doesn't remember breaking down the door until he's halfway to the kitchen.

_A family eating dinner._

Hobbs is tall, thin, frail. Cornered but not alone.

He holds his daughter's neck with a practiced hand, a knife at her throat. It's moments such as this Will wishes conduits were permitted to carry firearms.

"You are a conduit." He didn't hear Hannibal follow him to the kitchen, but his grip is like a vice on his shoulder, his eyes are on the girl. "You do not need a gun."

Will jerks forward in a movement that is not entirely his own.

It happens in a matter of seconds. The girl is on the ground, her hand stretched up towards Will, fingers twitching. Garrett Jacob Hobbs has slit his daughter's throat and the world is floating.

She has manifested and everything is chaos.

_You don't need a gun._

His arms held in front of him, Will lunges forward. His hands wrap around the man's face in a twisted mockery of a loving hold.

He remembers a dusty, old trick, bullied in the schoolyards of Louisiana. Take the best memories of someone, slice through them with the worst. Pleasure compounding with pain and all of that sensation channeled into one brain with no outlet.

The memories he takes are not those of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. He reaches out and plucks the very brightest moments from the minds around him, ignoring the screaming sensation building in his head. He looses a strange, rough cry. It sounds like a laugh.

_A small brown dog, a one-eyed, matted stray. The guts of a deer spill out onto the table, a successful kill. A small, blonde girl falls from the low branches of a tree into his arms, her mouth split into a reverent smile._

Pressing his thumbs into the other man's temple, desperate and furious, he searches.

_Stomach cancer, the first dog he lost. A knife at her throat. Teeth in the stool._

Will releases his hold and Hobbs falls, his eyes glassy and bleeding from the sides. Will drops to the floor, ignoring the mess. The girl is still bleeding. He turns to call Hannibal to aid him, stopping when his figure walks through the kitchen archway, out-of-breath and pale. He takes a single, deep breath, before rushing to their side, removing Will's hand and placing a dishtowel over the girl's gaping throat.

Will stands, backing away. Assessing.

"See?"

From the corner, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, sightless and smiling, calls him back.

"See?"

* * *

Jack lets Beverly drive Will back to the hotel and they make the trip in near-silence. She briefly reaches over at one point to place a hand over his. He doesn't understand who the gesture is for, but he appreciates it.

He showers, after she leaves, finally letting the drawbacks of his own power surge hit him. He is drained. Emotionally, psychically. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to read someone again. A ridiculous thought to have, it's in his nature, he can't shut it off. But with the almost crushing soreness he feels, it seems almost impossible.

He steps out of the shower, towel slung around his waist and falls into the bed. Behind his lids he sees the daughter of Garret Jacob Hobbs. The name Abigail has a feeling to it, something protective, paternal. Her visage may fade, with time. Only the coming days will tell if the emotions will leave with it.

Eventually, Will dreams. There is a a blonde girl he barely recognizes. She is slowly running her hand down the snout of the more familiar Ravenstag. "Stay," he starts to shout but it only draws their attention. Two sets of eyes reach his and she is walking towards him, beast in tow, "away." He finishes, quietly and she is in front of him, holding out a hand turned black. He takes it without thought.

"Varna varnui akies nekirs." Her mouth never opens, but he knows the words are hers.

"I'm sorry." Will draws his eyebrows together. "I don't understand you. Do you understand me?"

She drops his hand and walks past him. He examines his hand and notes the color she has left there is a deep maroon and dry on his palm.

"Hannibal!" He looks up. The girl is standing by a familiar stream, hands on her hips and looking appropriately cross.

"I'm sorry." He catches up with her, can feel the stag a few feet behind him. "So, I've stolen you from _his_ head." He recognizes her now, her hair and her smile. A little girl falling from a tree. One of the memories he pushed into Hobbs' skull.

A happy one.

She mutters something in a language he doesn't understand and he smiles. She's gesticulating towards the water and back up towards the trees. Will stops her before she can begin to climb. He wonders how Hannibal knows her. How long before she's exorcised from his mind.

At least she's better company than the beast.

Wading into the stream, he motions for her to follow. "Here. Do you know how to fish?"

* * *

Will gazes at his ceiling and commits the girl's face to memory. Dreams are a more pleasant place with company like hers. His watch signals the next day and his mind drifts to thoughts of another girl.

Abigail is a conduit, now. She'll be registered, like the rest of them, and with no mother or father to protect her, she'll be forced into training. Will's teeth grind together.

Sleep does not return and he calls a taxi, finding his way to the hospital. Abigail will not wake up, may never wake up. Her restfulness can soothe his own sleeplessness.

When he enters her room, showing the guards his own temporary badge, it's to the sight of Hannibal, loose-limbed and slightly curled in one of the uncomfortable chairs the hospital provides. He is clutching the girl's hand lightly between his own, bigger fingers and Will remembers the hand on his shoulder.

_You don't need a gun._

The hand that, decidedly, was not there.

Will imagines Abigail sleeping, without the tubes. Her eyes are soft, creaseless, her hair a soft black that stains the pillow. Hannibal is dressed down with hair slightly askew. In this relaxed state, they look like they could be father and daughter. He crosses the room to sit on Abigail's other side, sliding his hand into her other, smaller one.

For once his sleep is dreamless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! Two chapters in one night to apologize for the wait!

"Part of your job will be updating your profiles with new information. Link the facts from the suspect to the case, not the suspect themselves. It sounds obvious now, but when you've got a hunch and you ignore new evidence to follow it, you'll regret it." The projector flicks on with a hum. "The Chesapeake Ripper, we now know, is a conduit who chooses to kill _as_ a human. He plants his focuses with a clear image in mind. The only way we know he is a conduit is his super human strength."

A hand raises. Will nods at the girl in the front row. "If it's just conduit strength we're looking at, couldn't it be female?"

"Fair enough," Will concedes, " _if_ that were all we were looking at." He points behind him. A petite woman smiles out at the classroom. She's dressed like the students and he sees some of them are unnerved. "Miriam Lass. Trainee Reader and the last to profile the Chesapeake Ripper. She determined the sex and age range of the Ripper. As you know, she was also the latest victim."

The student nods, scribbling something down. He wonders if she ever knew Lass. If any of them had.

"On the other end of the spectrum is the Copycat Killer." Will changes slides and Cassie Boyle's body is magnified by the projector. "A human who kills as a conduit. At least, so far. He took the murders of the Minnesota Shrike and twisted them to show us a negative, thus leading us to," Will turns to face the image behind him and feels a twitch under his eye, "Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

Another hand raises and Will motions for a man near the back to speak. "I read that Garret Jacob Hobbs was eating his victims. That's why we haven't been able to find anything. How does that fit into the profile?"

Will holds his jaw. The grinding of his teeth has become a frequent and terrible habit. "While I _applaud_ your effort to look further into the situation, I don't think Tattlecrime is the best source for that." He gets a few laughs for his effort. "As for the cannibalism," He considers, "a likely theory given who we're dealing with. Cannibalism is an act of power. To a psychopathic conduit, especially a high-level one like Hobbs, the consumption of flesh could be seen as the absorption of their power. Hence why he left any humans alone. Nothing to gain. It would have been _wasteful_."

"What was his power?" He probes.

"Low-grade Electromagneticism." Will switches off the projector, signaling the end of his lecture. "He could manipulate subatomic particles to a degree, though his decision to remain unregistered and unknown limited him in this capacity."

"And Abigail Hobbs?" The students who had began to shuffle out stop, momentarily, to look at a classmate who has decided to push her luck. "What is her power?"

Will examines her, bushy red hair and a greedy expression. "Class is dismissed."

* * *

Beverly texts him during his lecture to let him know Abigail is awake.

It's been a little over a week since Will killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs and, since that time, he's spent most nights in the hospital room they moved Abigail to, in Baltimore. This is the first time he's found himself here alone. Hannibal is never there during the day and the steady presence of Alana Bloom by the girl's side is no where to be seen. He hopes Abigail is asleep when he arrives. To check in and leave.

Abigail is sitting up when Will reaches the room, eyes open and turned towards him.

"Hi." She speaks first, raising a hand in a small arc to wave. He jumps, almost running to her side.

"Hey," Will stops just short of the chair he normally occupies, "hi, how," he doesn't finish. He knows how she's feeling. Like she's had the life drained out of her. He knows how she is. Confused, angry, upset, alone.

She nods once, in understanding, motioning for him to sit. He does and she waits a beat. "I know you. You were in my head. Stole something from me." She takes a sip of water from the cup in her lap. It's still hard for her to speak.

"I can't give that back." Will admits.

"I know. You used it to kill my dad." Abigail's gaze is fierce and Will feels his own skitter away. "I-I can't remember much."

"What do you remember?"

"I remember your face and that other man. Then I was," She struggles, "floating."

The other man. Hannibal, Will reasons. "The other man who saved you?"

"You both saved me." She bites out. She is bitter about this and Will can't blame her. Her hand strays to her neck. "I don't remember him saving me. I just remember him talking to you and then," she trails off.

Will remembers Hannibal's hand on his shoulder. He remembers Hannibal walking through the kitchen door as though he'd never been in the room. He wonders which way Hannibal will remember it if he ever asks. Wonders if he should ask a psychiatrist _anything_ regarding his mental state.

"So you've met Alana?" He attempts to change the subject.

"She's nice." Abigail twists her hands together. "Strange powers, though."

Will snorts. Since they'd met, Alana had always been rather sensitive about her skill set. Even if she hadn't admitted it to him, he could tell in the way she introduced herself to others. She had been less embarrassed about it, recently, working in the training facility.

"Oil is more useful than you might think." Will picks up. "Doctor Bloom is trained well enough to turn into it. It's a neat trick."

"What's it good for?"

"Defense. A lot of the chemical conduits can shift form so they can't be touched. A bitch to catch."

"I guess that's why we have conduit cops, now." She lifts a shoulder.

"I guess." Will looks back at her. She's looking at her hands. Trying to find the difference, Will frowns. "Gravity is a subset of electromagnetism. It's the type of conduit your father was."

Abigail's eyes meet his own, wide and furious through the sheen of tears. An invisible weight presses on his shoulders and he hunches forward.

"Abigail," he says her name, to her, for the first time and his chest tightens, "did you _know_ your father was a conduit?"

"Sorry, Abig-" Alana Bloom's sentence stops short and the weight lifts. She is standing just inside the door, holding a dinner tray. "Will, hello! Sorry, were you two talking? I can come back."

Will draws back the small amount he had moved, making the movement as natural as possible. Abigail is looking at her hands, again, frightened. "It's fine." Will rotates his shoulders. "We're just introducing ourselves."

"I popped out to get Abigail something other than ice water." She smiles and Abigail recovers, smiles back at her. Will stands and gathers his coat as Alana sits on the other side of the girl. "Hannibal's on his way." She says. "Maybe you should wait a few minutes?"

He can't tell if Alana has something she needs to say or is simply nervous to be alone with the girl. Whatever the case, he stands awkwardly in the corner, watching the door, while the two make small talk about the hospital cafeteria.

When Hannibal enters, he nods to Will, before turning his attention towards the hospital bed. In the rush of the last week, from Wolf Trap to his lectures and crashing in the hospital, the two had exchanged pleasantries over food provided by the good doctor and little else.

Will hasn't told Hannibal this has been the best week of sleep in his life. He hasn't asked about the blonde girl who has visited him more than once since he shoved her into the mind of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. He hasn't even asked what his accent is, because he probably shouldn't care, even if he does.

They both haven't discussed their habit of falling asleep, hands clutched tightly to Abigail's own. They likely won't, now.

"Hello, Abigail." Hannibal sits in Will's vacated spot, placing his suit jacket over the arm of the chair. She looks wary, but greets him when he introduces himself. They both kept vigil over the girl but Hannibal is already more comfortable with her, more open.

Will is starkly reminded that Hannibal was the one who saved her. Hannibal wasn't the one who killed her father.

The reminder is stifling and Will has to leave. He throws his coat on, nodding to Hannibal and Alana as he heads towards the door.

It is a small consolation to hear Abigail's quiet goodbye as he leaves.

* * *

Jack invites Will out to lunch after his lecture the following day. He calls it 'congratulatory' which Will thinks is nice, considering all the paperwork he's caused the man. He quickly changes his opinion when Abigail Hobbs enters the conversation.

"You've been spending a lot of time at the hospital, Will." Jack wipes a stain from his chin. "Observed anything unusual?"

 _From a girl glued to her hospital bed?_ Will wants to laugh. "No power surges. Nothing to suggest she's abnormal or she'll need to be quarantined. Just your run-of-the-mill manifest." _With a side order of attempted filicide._

"Abigail may have been helping Garrett Jacob Hobbs." Will rolls his eyes, balls his napkin up on the table. He'd read the article on Tattle-Crime and variations on the theme from anti-conduit news sites. "You said it yourself, Will. He _wanted_ her to manifest. He was willing to kill her to do it. What if he was looking for other ways?"

"Like what?" Will scoffs. "Teaching her to kill? That's a bit unorthodox." When Jack doesn't laugh, Will continues, "And unlikely, if you're curious. Hobbs was a psychopath, not stupid. He wouldn't have trusted her, at that age, to keep his secrets."

He hasn't told Jack of his own suspicions. Abigail's wide eyes bloom behind Will's eyelids. He shoves the image away. She was hiding something but he read Abigail in the moment she thought she would die. She was her father's victim.

"Find someone else." Will says, hoping it relays the finality he feels. "It's bioclassicism, Jack. If she hadn't manifested she'd be the poor white girl that daddy tried to kill. Thanks to Tattlecrime, the world knows she's a conduit, so now she's daddy's little helper."

Jack's smile is humorless. "I'm not persecuting her. The profile fits." Will sighs. "Hobbs is dead, but the families of those girls are still looking for answers. You lecture on this, Will! You can't rule Abigail Hobbs out as an accessory because of your own personal feelings."

"Right, I'll just take the personal feelings of Garrett Jacob Hobbs' victims as fact, shall I?" Will is sulking and he knows it. It is only what Jack considers his latest victory that keeps the other man from biting back at him.

Jack stands from the table, eyebrows raised. "Just keep your eyes open." He throws over his shoulder and then he is gone. 

* * *

It takes more curiosity than courage to bring him back to Abigail's room. She closes the book she's reading and he places a deck of cards on the table beside her.

"Thanks." She eyes them as he sits. "Where did you go?"

"Home." Will removes his coat and hangs it on the back of his chair. "Why, miss me?" He regrets the words almost immediately.

"Yes." Abigail doesn't seem to notice his discomfort. She grabs the cards and attempts to shuffle them. They scatter on the bed. "It felt like you were," her lips are a tight line, "far away."

"When I do," Will helps her gather the cards back into a neat pile, "what I _did_ to you and Hannibal. It stays with you for a little while. With me, a little longer."

"How so?"

"Dreams, visions, feeling like you miss someone." Will smiles ruefully.

"Maybe I just missed you." Abigail hands him the cards and their eyes lock. Will adjusts his glasses. "Hannibal said you were here every night."

"We were." He amends, quietly.

"Must have been good to go home."

"I missed the dogs." He admits. He doesn't tell her he couldn't sleep at all, the feel of a palm missing from his own. "They were driving the sitter crazy, anyway."

"You have dogs?" Her eyes brighten a little and the air sparks around her.

"A few," he nods, "do you like them?"

"I do. Mom won't let me have one," Abigail freezes, "wouldn't. Wouldn't let me have one. Too messy."

"You can visit mine if you'd like." She nods, silently. "They're good company for Readers." Will's sure it goes without saying. Any lonely child wants a pet and conduits can be a particularly lonely breed.

"So you can read minds?"

"Do you think I can read minds?"

Abigail's eyes rake over his face. "No."

"I can read minds." He shuffles the cards, hides his smile.

"What am I thinking?" Her voice is flat. Challenging.

Will puts the cards on the table and places his fingers to his temples. He tilts his head and squints his eyes until he sees a burst of red. He opens them with a small gasp. "You're right. I can't read minds."

She is smiling. "Thought so."

He smiles back, bites down the desire to ask if she's hiding something.

"I'm thinking about hunting." She says after a few seconds.

"With your dad?" She starts. "I saw it. It looked," he considers, "nice."

"Do you hunt?"

"I fish."

"Same thing isn't it?" She shrugs. "One you catch, the other you shoot." He looks at her, forces her to meet his eyes, for once.

_Small feet running down the stairs. Dad's been working all week and the weekend he's going to take me hiking._

_The Hobbs eating dinner._

_A dark-haired woman on a train. Abigail smiles at something she says and holds out her phone._

_A large hand over hers, guides the knife through fur, through sinew, through life._

The last memory he pulls and holds like an anchor.

Abigail is leaning over her equipment, taking in deep gulps of breath, staring at Will with wide eyes. "One you stalk, the other you lure." Will picks up. The same familiar protectiveness he felt the night he entered the Hobbs' home is surging through his chest. He doesn't know if it belongs to Garrett Jacob Hobbs or himself. Jack's voice, accusing Abigail, is on repeat in his head.

"What did you-"

"Peeking behind the curtain." He replies smoothly, looking away and wiping his hands down his legs. "Abigail, Jack thinks you're involved in your father's murders."

"I didn't," her breaths shorten, quickens and he interrupts.

"And I can't protect you if you lie to me. Abigail, look at me." He takes her hand and she stills. "What did he make you do?"

Abigail looks at their joined hands and back to his face. Her breathing slows and she squeezes his hand, once, twice. "I was the lure."

* * *

The conversation with Abigail had ended after her admission, both of them unwilling to say anything else on the subject. Even in the silence, examining his own thoughts had left him drained.

Abigail was complicit in her father's murders, a clear negative. She was willing to trust Will with this information, a positive. Will may only find this to be positive through his connection to her psyche, a grey area.

And how to protect her was a chief concern. From Jack, the DUP, her own powers. Her own mind.

"Jack has you interrogating Abigail Hobbs?" Alana startles him as he exits the hospital. She is standing, arms crossed, at the top of the stairs.

"Did he tell you that?" He sees a phone gripped tightly in one of her delicate hands and imagines a red-faced Alana Bloom berating Jack Crawford. A smile spreads over his face at the image.

"He told me he thinks she's involved." Alana explained, less defensive at his expression. "And he asked you to keep an eye on her."

"I refused." Will shrugs. "Well, not in so many words. I let him know he was being ridiculous."

Alana lets out a long sigh. "Thank you, Will." She places a hand on his bicep. "Abigail has enough people against her right now. She needs all the support she can get." She looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Speak of the devil."

"Alana," Will turns to see Hannibal, immaculate as always, walking up the steps to join them, "Will." Will nods once, a familiar gesture, and Hannibal returns it.

"Hello, Hannibal. I'm glad you're both here, together, for once." Alana takes a step back, allowing Hannibal into their circle of three. "I've been meaning to ask your opinion both professionally and," her gaze slides to Will, then away, more quick than he would like, "between conduits."

"Shoot." Will crosses his arms.

"Abigail's manifestation occurred under very traumatic circumstances." Alana juts her chin out. "As her therapist, I think we should enroll her in training as soon as possible."

Will bites his tongue to stop himself yelling. He knew this was coming. He tempers his reaction to something resembling normalcy. "She's shown no abnormalities, no uncontrolled bursts of power." He lies easily. "You could train her just as easily, _alone_ , as any facility." The word feels bitter on his tongue.

Alana smiles tightly. "While I appreciate the sentiment, this is a good age for training."

"As opposed to 38." Will can imagine the flatness of his face. Can hear it in his voice when he speaks.

"This isn't about you, Will." Alana's face falls. "This is about what's best for Abigail."

"I think you know where I stand." Will grabs his elbows. They both turn to Hannibal who has remained silent. He looks between them

"If you would like my professional opinion, I would be more than willing to give it, Doctor Bloom. However, I'm afraid it does not vary from my personal one." Hannibal's back is straighter, Will notes, his chin held down. Respectful, two colleagues addressing one another. "I believe you have talked to Abigail enough to know she is a very smart young woman. We should present her with the option and let her make her own decisions, as we do every conduit."

"She is a smart, _traumatized_ woman, Hannibal." Alana raises her brow. "But you're not _wrong_. If we push her, she'll feel cornered. If I present a strong case for training, she could come willingly."

"I have every faith in your skills, Alana." Hannibal smiles widely.

"Thanks." She chuckles. "I'll see you inside. Will," she looks at him, bites her lip, "drive safe, okay?" He gives her a brief smile and watches her walk inside.

Will releases his elbows, feeling lighter than a few moments before. Alana clearly meant to protect Abigail with what she was doing, but it wouldn't help. In Will's plan to protect Abigail, he had forgotten a silent, but obviously willing ally in Hannibal.

"Will," Hannibal draws his attention back, "I'm afraid we haven't had the opportunity to speak recently. How have you been?"

"I feel like I can't sleep without a shitty hospital chair holding me up." Will admits.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Will raises an eyebrow. He can't tell if the other man is teasing him.

"As a patient?" Will tilts his head and Hannibal grins. Definitely teasing.

"I told you before," Hannibal nods, "I wish only to be your friend."

Will removes his glasses, shakes his head. "Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conduit is murdering professors on a college campus in North Carolina. Will and Abigail are a little lonely and, despite all efforts to the contrary, Hannibal is becoming a fast friend to both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-watching Hannibal with my little sister (a newcomer to the show) and I'm realizing some events happened vastly different from what I remember. I suppose what I'm saying is, you hawk-eyed viewers out there, forgive my inconsistencies ;D

"Is that my psych eval?" Will regards the paper on Hannibal's desk.

"The conversations we have in this room will be as friends," Hannibal replies smoothly, "Equals. We cannot do that under the veil of a doctor-patient relationship."

"Good." Will nods. Can see the twitch at Hannibal's lips. "Sorry, I'm sure it's not good to just rubber stamp me." He says easily, motioning to the paper. "This, this is good. If I'm not your patient we can talk. I would be _willing_ to talk to you."

"Very good." Hannibal sits in one of the two chairs in the room. "I think we should begin by discussing our shared experience at the Hobbs household."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Have you spoken to Abigail Hobbs about it?" He presses.

"Have you?"

"I have." Hannibal nods. "We have discussed it at length, though she more often wants to talk about her father. She wants to know why he did what he did."

"She knows." Will says, levelly. "He was psychotic."

"It is not always so simple to a child."

"Seemed simple enough when he had the knife to her throat." Will responds.

"Did you carry that moment away with you, Will?"

"I think I said," Will's smile is unkind, "I didn't want to talk about this."

"You were in my head," Hannibal lowers his chin, "I think you at least owe me the courtesy of a conversation."

Will notes that he uses those words a lot. Courtesy, kindness, rudeness. Hannibal is a very civil man. Will removes his glasses, rubs a hand down his face. He knows if he talks about Garrett Jacob Hobbs, he will talk about Abigail. They'll talk about the memories he took. He wants Hannibal on her side, but it's not a great start for a first conversation. He places his glasses back on his face and sits across from the man. "Change the subject. As my _friend_."

To his surprise, Hannibal acquiesces with a nod. "Tell me about your childhood."

"Really?" Will snorts. Almost bored, as though he's reciting from a paper, "That's pedantic. My father was a human, I never met my mother. I was too young to remember when she left but they don't call us Readers for nothing." Hannibal's expression was one of confusion. "Dad had some pretty _fowl_ memories of her when he drank." Will explains.

"She was displeased with your abilities?"

"My mother hated her parents for having powers. So when I was born a natural," Will pointed over his shoulder to the door, whistles low.

"She blamed your father."

He shrugs. "Seems that way. Said he was supposed to _balance_ things out. She was wrong, it turns out." Will considers his next words before speaking. "I have a half-sister. Molly, her husband and their kid. They live out in Indiana."

Hannibal looks surprised. "I admit, you struck me as an only child."

"I had no idea mom had another family." Will admits. "It never really interested me, what happened to her. But Molly knew. She looked me up. Her mother hated conduits during a time of civil rights. She wanted to understand why." He crosses his ankles, taps his feet together. "She called me, four years ago, out of the blue. She grew up human, mom died, Molly got pregnant. Then, during the birth, boom," Will makes a sweeping motion with his hand, "manifestation."

Hannibal offers a grunt of sympathy. "You seem to bear your adoptive sister very little ill will. That is a rare quality in a case as yours." His tone is admiring.

"When Molly contacted me it was the day she had to go in for registration. She was so _scared_."

_His father has a hand on his back, people yell from the gates behind them. Will signs his name below the words. Conduit, Register, Empathy._

"I know it's hard for a human to understand," he shakes his head to clear the thoughts, "they're always comparing it to a rite of passage like getting your driver's license." He grins.

Hannibal returns his smile. "Do you think what happened to Molly is influencing how you want Abigail to proceed with her own training?"

"The training facility isn't so much for training the conduits as it is for controlling them. Abigail can control her own powers. The DUP is just worried they can't control _her_." Hannibal nods. Will doesn't know it if it is agreement or understanding. It's these times he wishes the man's mind were more malleable. "What about you? Mother, father?"

"Only an aunt and an uncle, I'm afraid." Hannibal's tilts his head towards him. "I was orphaned at a young age."

"Having something taken from you isn't the same thing as having them choose to be taken." Will says, not unkindly. He scratches the back of his head. He doesn't know if one experience is worse than the other and he's not in the mood to analyze it, so he changes the subject. "No brothers and sisters?"

Hannibal smiles tightly. "I had a sister."

Will smiles back. "To be honest, you also struck me as an only child."

"Did I?" The other man asks and Will nods.

Will's mind drifts to the blonde girl from his dreams. He knows this would be the perfect time to talk about her. To _share_ the memory he took from Hannibal at the Hobbs' house. But Hannibal doesn't elaborate further and Will lets the silence stretch.

Hannibal glances at his watch. "The hour grows late, Will. Do you have plans for tomorrow?"

"There's a case Jack wants me to look at." He eyes the paper on Hannibal's desk. "I guess I can now."

"You seemed uninterested in following Jack Crawford before. What changed your mind?"

The corners of Will's mouth lift into a grim smile. "Call it _magnetism_."

* * *

The scene Jack wants him to walk is at a campus in Greensboro, North Carolina. A five hour drive and it's night when he arrives. Beverly is waiting for him with a cup of coffee and a smile.

"Hey, handsome," she greets and he groans, swiping the mug from her hands, "good evening to you, too."

"Evening." He quirks a grin and walks through the cluster of people swarming the yellow tape. Behind it lies a long, ovular fountain, nonoperational. Empty save for a body.

Jack stands over the bloated man in the drained ceramic, hands in pockets and face tight.

"I assume this fountain wasn't scheduled for a routine cleaning?" Price pipes up, hopefully from the man's other side. Jack rolls his eyes and Zeller snorts.

"What do you have?" Will questions.

"Water conduit, by our guess. Drained the water from the fountain," Jack points to the body, "filtered it straight into our vic. We need the why and the who."

"Hm. I wonder what they did with the rest of the water." Will kneels to look more closely at the man.

"All right, you guys know the drill." Jack bellows. Will waits until he and the others are behind police lines and pushing back the bystanders before he searches for his focus.

_A feminine hand takes notes grips her pen too tight and the ink bursts over her books and palms. Money exchanges hands and an F becomes a C. Water moves in a controlled stream from a water bottle to her hands._

"He was a teacher here." Will comes back to himself when a bright spot joins him at his side. "He was taking bribes from his students."

"We looking at a pissed off student?" Beverly frowns.

"Yes, but she didn't know him personally." Will shakes his head. "She never saw his face. This was a matter of _pride_. We're looking for a good student. Or one who works hard at least."

"She?"

"Definitely she." He nods. "I don't think this was her first, either. She was too calm. This may have been the first she was confident enough to display."

"All this for trying to make a little extra cash?" Beverly shakes her head in disbelief.

Will pats his pocket, motions to the far end of the courtyard. "I'm going to get something to drink." He adds, looking at the body, " _Not_ water."

Beverly grunts, already heading over to join Zeller and Price in their examination of the body.

Will smiles and walks in the opposite direction.

Halfway to the cooler of snacks and drinks, and seemingly from nowhere, a red-haired woman blocks his path. He stops smiling. "I remember you."

"You know me," The student from his lecture, so interested in Abigail Hobbs, grins wickedly. "Teacher's pet."

He pushes past her. "Freddie Lounds, I presume."

"My reputation precedes me? Good." She calls, turning to follow him. "I couldn't get an interview with you through Detective Crawford."

"Why do you want to interview me, Ms. Lounds?"

"You were with Abigail Hobbs when she manifested, Mr. Graham." She's walking at a brisk pace to keep up. "The families of the women her father killed deserve to know what happened that day."

"Do they?" Will refuses to look at her. "Why?"

Freddie grabs his arm. A stream of consciousness floods his own, overrules it.

 _I don't care about the families, either._ Her voice is in his head, behind his eyes. _You, Abigail, me, we're conduits. We need to stick together. I can't help her if you hide her from me._

He remembers Abigail's hand in his. _I can't help you if you lie to me._

Will examines Freddie's manicured hand on his arm. "You must be a wonderful poker player." Quick as a snake, he twists to grab her wrist. "But, conduit or not, you are _very_ easy to read."

_Freddie stands in a white-washed building, a man in a suit pins a badge to her lapel and she stands a little straighter. Cassie Boyle, mounted on a pair of antlers. An image of himself walks past her, unseeing. She is invisible, transparent._

Freddie tries to wrest away from him and his vision goes a hazy shade of orange. He can no longer see clearly.

_Two plane tickets. A language he doesn't recognize, but it may be English. Everything is so blurry._

Will comes back to himself as the headlights on Jack's car burst outwards and Beverly's hands glow with a bright yellow light. She slides to her knees at Will's side, focusing the beam on him. It is only then he realizes he is laying on his back in the grass. "What did you do to him?" Beverly is screaming over the high pitched siren in his head.

"Nothing he didn't do to himself. Jesus, ow." Freddie is bent over double, beside him, holding her head. He would point and laugh if he could raise his arm that far.

"Asprin," Will rasps out, points to his pocket, "give her one." Beverly obeys, uncapping the bottle "Then get her the fuck away from me."

"You heard the man." Jack is at Freddie's elbow, watching her take the pills with narrowed eyes. He walks her off the crime scene before Beverly asks what happened.

"She pushed me." Will mutters. "I pushed back."

"I understand the urge but Jack's gonna be pissed, later." Beverly lifts him a little, lets him sit properly. Will is kind enough not to mention the busted headlights. "I've never seen _you_ look this beaten up. Too much at once?"

He shakes his head. "Too deep. Poked where I shouldn't." That earns him a snort. She sobers quickly when he adds, "I saw her future."

"You can do that?"

"It's not common, but it can happen. It's like," he laughs, motioning to the fountain, "water. An unclear image."

"I thought all of your visions were like that?" She stands and helps him up, handing him two of the asprin from his own bottle.

He takes them with a quiet thanks. "We forget our past, that's why it's murky. Our emotions are a jumble in the present. But those are both solid things, a certainty. Images you can make out at the right angles. The future is fluid. It will happen, is going to happen. But no one knows about it, yet, not even a Reader. The image is seen through frosted glass."

"Did you see my future?" Beverly pries.

He looks at the small nervous smile hovering at her lips. "No." He replies. "And if I had, I wouldn't tell you."

"Spoilsport." She throws an arm under his, holding him up without making it seem so.

* * *

Will dreams of Hannibal's girl, again, that night, in the desert, this time. He breathes a sigh at no immediate sign of the stag. In his place stands Beverly, watching the little girl build a castle with water and sand. He tries to call to Beverly and she looks to him, confused. She crumples gently to the sand when he reaches her, in the slow way that dreams allow. It seems an age before he can bend to examine her, to shake her shoulders and find she will not wake. The girl is tugging at his coat, pointing at the castle she has built. Asking him to play.

"Stop it." He scolds, pulling his sleeve from her grasp. He doesn't turn to see her pout or walk back over to her creation. Beverly's body has cracked like the dirt beneath her. Will runs his fingers along the seams as light pours out. He pulls back quickly as the light grows brighter, engulfing the space around her and turning all to white.

Will wakes in a cold sweat. He tries to follow the connection, the light in his mind between memory and fiction. He becomes frustrated as it fades, from white to black, like the pinprick at the center of an old television set.

He grabs his phone to examine the message that woke him. Another body and another scene to walk.

* * *

Beverly is not at the scene when he arrives. Will isn't sure whether he's grateful or anxious for that. Her question about seeing the future and his dream compound his anxiety, but the absence of her presence allows him to push it to the back of his mind as Jack leads him over a small bridge. They stop at a line of columns, covered in ice, their victim suspended between them in a unique, diamond shape. Will tilts his head, looks to Jack with what he hopes is the appropriate amount of confusion.

"You're getting this one fresh." Jack crosses his arms. "Water conduit, same campus. Looks like a teacher again, but we want as much as we can before we break the ice."

Will removes his glasses and snakes a hand through his hair. "There are only 17,000 students at this school, Jack. I know they're not all conduits _and_ female. How hard could she be to find?"

"Two male water conduits on this campus, one female." Jack explains. "The males have been cleared. Any doubt we had about the female was erased with this new murder. There's no way she has enough control to pull this off. She can barely draw from a glass of water, let alone form ice."

"That you know of." Will says, absentmindedly running his hand along the ice. It's solid, cold, but not melting in the sun.

"She was with us when this happened, Will. It's not her." Jack says with a note of finality. "Whoever this is, she isn't registered. Like we need that level of paperwork." He mutters.

"So we're looking at a natural, again?" Will pulls back with a long sigh.

The other man nods. "More than likely. Will that help you?"

"Not really." Will admits. His eyebrows draw together. "Her focus was _so clear_."

"What does that mean?"

"For a natural conduit, it's," Will barks a laugh, "unnatural."

Jack nods in understanding and turns to leave. "See what you can find." He throws over his shoulder.

Will considers, briefly, folding his mind into the crime scene before he feels Jack's own out of focus. It would only be an accident, clearly, he wouldn't _mean_ to push beyond the walls of the other man's psyche. And, any information about Abigail Hobbs' he finds there would _obviously_ be a complete breach of trust to share.

He considers it, briefly, and dismisses the thought.

Will has resigned himself to examining death through thoughts. Though he can't wish to see some of the things he has, if it is to be conduits who kill, he does wish more water conduits would. They seem to place their focus on everything they draw from. He waits, Jack's frustration ebbing into calm, once more, and he sees.

_A faceless woman berates a crying dancer. Anger. A small, dusty library. Contentment. Feminine hands place a steaming mug in front of a dark-skinned man as he talks on the phone, assignments splayed out before him. The ice slowly crawls inside the faceless woman's lungs, filling, retracting. Pride._

Will examines the body in the ice. The woman's face has been blocked out by a swirling pattern in it's make. He wonders if it was by design.

When he finds Jack, the team is with him. Something in his chest uncoils at the sight of Beverly and he thinks to hug her before she looks at him oddly. He settles for a wave.

Jack looks at him expectantly. "I got more this time." Will says. "This one was a sadist. Dance instructor who liked to play rough with some of the girls."

"We'll round up few of them up for questioning." Jack nods at an agent who will pass the word along. "Our killer?"

"Never met her intended until the night of the murder, same as the last." Will explains. "She's faceless in all of the memories. I think," Will shakes his head, "I think someone's _feeding_ her information." He thinks of Freddie Lounds and represses a shudder.

"Maybe one of the dancer's friends?" Beverly suggests.

"How does that connect to our first vic?" Zeller chimes in, wearily.

Will plays the conduits thoughts like a flipbook in his head. "No. A teacher she's trying to impress." He remembers the contentment she felt in the man's presences, the pride in her kill. "There's someone she's killing for."

"He's getting her to, what," Beverly probes, "kill off annoying co-workers?"

"No, this is all her." Will replies quietly. "She's not doing this _because_ of him, she's doing this _for_ him."

"What's the difference?"

"Free will. She's not being coerced or challenged. She's just," he shrugs, "doing it. Make of that what you will."

"Did you get a look at the teacher?" Jack asks as Zeller and Price head for the sculpture.

"Nothing clear." Will says. "Male, African American. He never looked up."

"We'll have you look through the teacher roster, see if it sparks anything." Jack nods and follows after the other two men.

Beverly catches Will's eye again and he feels hot, despite the surrounding cold. She raises a brow. "Problem?"

"Sense memory." He closes his eyes, concentrates on the ice in the desert and drags himself back to the present. Beverly is staring between him the path with open curiosity. Will's phone spares him from anymore questions, Abigail's name filling the screen. He places it to his ear, waving to Beverly as she steps away.

"Hello, Abigail." He says, when he feels he has walked a far enough distance.

The first words out of the girl's mouth are, "I don't understand why they're keeping me here. I'm _fine_. I've been fine forever."

Will chuckles. "One of the benefits to being a conduit. Fast healing."

She makes a noise of contemplation. "Does it get rid of scars?"

"Nothing does that." He says, softly. It had been Alana's idea to keep Abigail in the hospital longer than her powers facilitated. The reasoning was sound. Not everyone knew Abigail's status as a conduit. She wasn't registered, yet. They could do it discretely, away from the media circus, the protesters. She could be protected.

He could protect her.

When she doesn't speak he continues. "It'll be easier for you to transfer into protective services from where you're at."

"Jack doesn't want to protect me." She hisses.

"The FBI isn't the only agency out there." Will looks over his shoulder. He's out of hearing range, but he walks further, anyway. "There's a special Conduit Protection Program they're trying out and I know NSA has a group of unregistereds working for them they don't want anyone to know about."

"So they can turn me into a little toy soldier?" She snorts.

"I hear it pays better than the DUP." Will jokes.

"I don't need them." Abigail sounds confident. "You'll protect me." Warmth blooms in Will's chest and he squeezes the phone a little tighter. He, briefly, thinks that all of their conversations should happen over the phone. Maybe he won't make an ass of himself that way. "What about you, Will? How are you?"

"Bad dreams." He considers lying to her. Thinks about trust and two-ways streets, before he realizes he simply _wants_ to share how he's feeling.

"Is it," a pause, "because of me?" She lets the empty space speak for her. _I helped him, Will. Do I disappoint you? Will you still protect me, when you know everything?_

"No," he assures her, though he's not sure if _that_ is a lie. "these are Reader's dreams. They just happen when I," he trails off.

"Read?" She supplies and he chuckles. "Maybe you _shouldn't_ do that?"

"Ask a fish not to swim, Abigail." He shrugs. "Don't worry. About that or," he quiets, "the other thing." He coughs, remembering why she originally called him. Boredom. "You know, if you want to talk to someone, Hannibal's pretty close. Or Alana."

"Hannibal suggested a women's care facility while Alana wasn't around." Abigail says, changing the topic effortlessly. "I think he wants to make it seem like my idea."

"Do you like that idea?"

"He made it sound nice. Only the people I want bothering me there and I could get _treatment_." Abigail sounds scornful at the last. "I like that he's protecting me. I like it better than training." She admits and Will laughs. "I'd rather be outside."

"I'm out here, now." Will looks up. "Pretty grey, you're not missing much."

Abigail is quiet. "When do you come back?"

"I can be back tomorrow if you need me."

"Come back tomorrow."

* * *

 

The transfer papers go through reasonably fast when Alana hears Abigail's proposal and it's the work of an evening to get her transferred to the women's clinic Hannibal suggested. Will sees something strange in this. If it were anyone other than Hannibal who had pushed through the girl's paperwork, Alana might as well. As it was, she mentions nothing of the expediency of the process, speaking only to comment on the furthering of security measures. She _does_ offer to be the one who will run the change by Jack and Will is glad to be kept from the fallout of that for now.

Abigail leans on Hannibal, for support or as a blatant manipulation, Will is unsure, as Alana signs them in to Diane Jeffrie's Women's Health Center. Will reflects on the three from a distance. They resemble a beautiful, dysfunctional family. Hannibal regards him as Abigail and Alana pass through the automatic doors and Will falls into step with the older man.

Abigail is housed in what Will can only describe as a suite. There is a queen sized bed with floral print, a desk and a bookcase. It's all very spartan, though he's sure it won't remain so in the following weeks. A large window lets sunlight in and Abigail is immediately drawn to it. He wonders if Abigail's room at home was something like this. He turns to the man beside him.

His mind is drawn back to the thought of expediency, to the state of the room, even to the floral on the bed sheets. He thought he had felt Alana's hand at work on the latter but, put together, it all screamed Hannibal. Perhaps it was for the mere reason it's exactly how Will would have had it done, since she couldn't go back home.

Abigail is frightened and curious. There is a real dread at the thought of being left here. Alana's emotions fare no better, a bundle of elation and nerves, trying to wind themselves around the younger girl. She cannot reach outside herself so she hovers, instead. Will is almost successful in blocking her out. It helps to focus on the still man beside him and he finds himself, once again, thankful for the calm mind of Hannibal Lecter.

The flux of emotions becomes impossible to ignore when Alana mentions, again, placing Abigail in training.

"I think it will make things easier." Alana assures. Abigail smiles, lightly, but her mind is a burst of anger that Will is proud of before it freezes over to calm once more. Alana looks around. "You can commute, though it may be more stressful not to live in the facility with conduits your age."

Hannibal interrupts, drawing the woman's attention. "While I see the merit, I believe Abigail has already explained it is not something she wants." He turns to her and Will finally feels, first hand, the warmth from Abigail when Hannibal speaks on her behalf. "Unless you have changed your mind, of course?"

It takes a moment for Abigail to collect herself and face Alana, her mind like iron, now. "No, thank you, Dr. Bloom."

Alana smiles tightly and silently motions for Hannibal to follow her out. Whatever she has to say to the man, Will is sure he doesn't want to hear and he waits until they are out of the room to sit by Abigail's bed in the desk chair provided.

She flops, cross-legged, onto her bed and smiles, wide. "This place is the best, but still, it's kind of awful."

"Yeah." He admits with a laugh. "It's like the whole room is bright and everything outside is crushing it inwards."

"Kind of makes me afraid to leave."

"Maybe that's the point." Will offers and Abigail's expression tells him he is being quite unhelpful.

She is silent for a moment. "Do you think we should tell him?"

"Do _you_ think you should tell him?" Will counters steadily. He knows they'll have to tell Hannibal at some point. He hasn't willingly signed himself into therapy for nothing. It being Abigail's idea will make the transition much easier.

She examines her hands. "He's already been in my head once, thanks to you." Abigail finally speaks. "And he's smart. Jack has the man in his pocket and it's only a matter of time before he gets tired of waiting for a profile from you or Alana."

Will sucks on his lip. "At least you've thought about this."

"What do _you_ think?" She prods. Will realizes the feeling poring out of her is genuine. Not fear, but caring. If Will says no, silent as the grave she'll stay. He feels powerful.

And how Garrett Jacob Hobbs _abused_ such a power, he will always remember.

"He stamped you off to go to a care center instead of training, _knowing_ how Jack feels about you." Will thinks of his own psych evaluation and grins. "He obviously cares about you." He lowers his voice. "Before we tell him anything I need to know what it is we're saying."

Abigail swallows and nods.

* * *

Will forgets he is carless until the awkward moment the three must separate in the parking lot, Alana and Hannibal staring at him expectantly.

"Oh," Will starts, "I, uh, this was kind of a surprise trip. Beverly's bringing my car back tomorrow with," Will almost says the bodies but stops himself at the last second, "some evidence." He pulls out his phone to dial the number for the taxi service and a hand lands on his shoulder.

"Worry not, Will." It looks as though Hannibal is trying not to smile. "I can drive you to your home."

"It's pretty far." Will scratches the back of his head.

"Excellent." He assures. "Then we will have ample opportunity to speak."

Will accepts with a shrug and Alana bids them goodbye. Will notices her farewell to Hannibal is a little icier than normal and he is forced to suppress a smile of his own.

"Shall we?"

* * *

Will feels not contented, but relaxed at least, sitting in the car, next to the man, where he can't easily turn to read Will's expressions. Equally Will can't see the other's and it sets him more at ease.

He doesn't normally listen to music, too many thoughts hidden in the crescendos. Classical is nice, he finds, the music so old that the memories degrade with the melody. Lay dead with their masters.

After the first song, Will speaks. "Did Alana chew you out?"

"I can't say I didn't deserve it. I've been pushing Abigail as she has, though I feel my direction is in her best interests."

"Why's that?"

"It is as I said, it's what Abigail wants. And you, Will? Did you enjoy your time with Abigail?"

"We talked." He leans his head back. "About you, mostly. She likes you." He smiles and Hannibal smiles back.

"I find myself quite fond of her as well."

"You care about her."

A light passes over Hannibal's face, his expression puzzled. "I feel a connection to Abigail."

Will remembers the surge of power the transfer of memories.

"Residual from when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs." Will looks out the window. He's sure he doesn't want to look at Hannibal for this conversation. "I did something a little," he searches, "unorthodox, by conduit and police practices."

"That's quite all right, Will." Hannibal says. "I'm no stranger to the unorthodox."

He doesn't want to go into the specifics, doesn't want to tell him which memories he took. Not yet. He keeps his explanation as simple as when he told Jack. "I channeled thoughts. Yours, Abigail's, some of my own, into Hobb's head. That's why it hit you so hard. I apologize."

"You were protecting Abigail," The other man assures him, "you have nothing to apologize for."

"You're protecting her now?" Will raises an eyebrow. "That paperwork went through awfully fast."

"I may have proceeded without Abigail's consent," Hannibal admits and Will finally looks at him, "I would have withdrawn immediately, had she protested or I found it unsuitable."

"Alana thinks training is in her best interest." Will counters. "She says it'll get Jack off her back"

Hannibal gives him a knowing look. The man must suspect he's baiting him. They both, surely, know Jack won't leave Abigail alone. "I will not besmirch Doctor Bloom's character. Alana is Abigail's therapist and she is a very _good_ therapist. She is keeping her best interests in mind, as well. We just have different ideas about what that means. I am," he pauses, "biased."

"Because you care about her." Will repeats his earlier sentiment. He faces forward. They are close to his house, now, the trees clumped together and the houses few and far between. "It'll fade." He says, almost automatically. His go to line, it now feels like.

"I don't know that I wish it to." Hannibal admits. Will leans forward, stares at the tip of his toes over his glasses. "We are her fathers now, Will. I do not wish to leave you alone in this."

Will examines the man with open curiosity. Before he can respond, they're pulling into his driveway. He almost thinks Hannibal will walk him to his door like a proper gentlemen, but the man simply stands by the driver's side. Will reaches out to pat his shoulder, briefly. Nervous, twitchy. He wishes he were more sure of his movements.

_Snow. A young girl, blonde._

"Thanks for the ride." He moves his hand away slowly. "Goodnight, Doctor Lecter."

"Anytime, Will."

* * *

Jack sends him the teacher roster the next morning. If he is unhappy about Will's retreat or Abigail's transfer, he doesn't mention it.  _Work first._ Will chants, inwardly. He sets the dogs loose in the yard and wonders if Alana really did take the brunt of the man's frustration.

Sitting on the porch, he flips through the pictures on his phone. His dogs encircle him like a cocoon. Buster and Limerick are chasing each other in the early light when he feels another mind touch his. He knows it, immediately.

"Freddie Lounds." He shouts to the empty space. A few of the dogs turn their attention to him, the others remain sleeping.

Freddie's visage appears at the edge of the yard, near a block of trees. Limerick leads the pack to greet her, though Winston and a few of the older dogs remain, warily, by Will's side. In the time it takes for her to push the dogs away and walk to him, he is standing, collected.

"You know where I live." It's a statement of fact. "One is _surprised_ you would go to such lengths like breaking into crime scenes for an interview."

"I followed you from the hospital. And Abigail's new hideaway." She responds in lieu of explanation, stopping at the edge of his porch. Will's jaw tightens. "Don't worry. I waited outside like a good little girl. Surprisingly Abigail's facility is more protected than a federal crime scene. Why is that, I wonder?"

Will sends a silent thanks to Hannibal. He takes a step towards her and she steps back, too quick. He can feel the fear buried deep, deep beneath her overwhelming curiosity.

"I apologize, for startling you the other day." Freddie says and Will nearly snarls.

"You didn't." More than anything he wants her to know what he did, he did on purpose. He could do it again.

The fear migrates to her eyes for a moment, but her confidence wins out. "I came to thank you, too." She coughs, begins to rummage through her purse. "You listened, in a way. It's important for conduits to _stick together_. Don't lose sight of what's important."

She has finally found what she was looking for. Holds it out for Will to inspect.

_A man in a suit pins a badge to her lapel and she stands a little straighter._

_Freddie walks out of the building and runs her hand along the interior sign._

_DARPA._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has agreed to protect Abigail and in doing so, must learn her secrets. Abigail Hobbs isn't the only one hiding things and, with his current case drawing to a close, Will learns he's going to have more to take care of than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Along with all the usual warnings that come with Hannibal, I'd like to add mentions of dubcon. You won't see anything like that from the characters themselves but, case-wise, extra warnings may crop up from time to time.

An evening visit to Abigail, at the Diane Jeffrie's Women's Health Center, is a different experience for Will. The facility's security measures, though mostly human, have been doubled since his visit only a few days prior. Beyond signing himself in, Will must step through a metal detector beyond the front doors and another body scan further in.

He briefly wonders who sanctioned all of this, whether it's to keep people like him out, or someone like Abigail in. The thought makes him smile, grimly. The men patrolling with their tiny firearms can do little to stop either, though they do produce the fortunate side effect of keeping the Lounds' of the world at bay.

"What do I do?"

Abigail and Will sit across from one another on her bed. Will was correct in his thinking and Abigail's room has gained a few new baubles. Books on her shelf and a journal on the desk, a pen slanted across the black, leather cover.

"Give me your hands." Will licks his lips, holding out his calloused palms. She obeys, her palms touching his own. "Close your eyes. Think about the first time you killed."

Abigail's eyes shoot open. "No! I never did that,"

"Shh," Will squeezes her hands, pulls her back to a calmer state with his own mind, "It's okay, Abigail. Think about the first time you _killed_. Anything at all."

She looks wary and Will closes his eyes, first, to help. A moment later, there is a flood.

_A ladybug lands on her finger. Its blood is not red, as its crushed wings once were and she feels a strange disappointment. The first time she hunts with her father, the arrow flies. He pulls it out for her and, this time, the blood is red. The pride seeps from her father into her._

Will knows what's coming next. He leans back, braces his mind.

_I walk in the crowd of the university, talking to a girl so similar to me, it's uncanny. We laugh, together and I ask for her number. I've read her file. Likelihood to manifest. Dad is waiting for me across the lot. He looks so proud._

"There." Abigail pulls her hands away, tears leaking from her eyes. "Now you know _everything_. Happy?"

"Estatic." Will can't keep the bitterness from his voice. He's seen enough. "Were they all like that?"

She shrugs, swiping roughly at her face. "You saw their profiles."

"That's not what I meant." His voice is hard. "You knew what he was looking for and you," he searches, " _befriended_ them. _All_ of them?"

Abigail bites her lip, doesn't meet his eyes when she jerks a nod. "I still dream about them." She says, voice quiet. "I know I don't deserve to, but I do. Nightmares, of course, but good dreams, too." She smiles up at him. "Do you think I'm a sociopath?"

"I think," Will scrubs his hands down his face, breathing deep, "I think you're a victim of a psychotic man, who loved you very much. The things he did," he seeks out her gaze, "I have dreams, too." He settles on and she looks relieved.

"I think he was so worried about what I would become that he forgot he was supposed to take care of me. Train me." Abigail clasps her hands in her lap and a surge of protectiveness rushes through Will.

He lays a shaky hand over the girl's own and, though it wavers, she smiles.

* * *

Will spends the next week avoiding Abigail and Hannibal, both. Abigail must realize he needs his space and doesn't try to call him. He talks to Alana telling her he needs to rest his mind. Though she expresses her worry, this seems to be enough to keep her away for the moment though Will wonders if Hannibal, who sends his regards through the woman, had some hand in that.

He finds himself unable to reconcile the woman he wanted Abigail to be with the woman in Abigail’s head. The woman she, in truth, is. He forces himself to look, again and again, relive her visions in his dreams. Sometimes his blonde girl, who he’s taken to calling different diminutives, like darling, sweetheart and dear, will be there, too. A playmate for Abigail and whichever poor victim she has brought.

He worries about her future, he worries that he is only worried because this is how Garrett Jacob Hobbs would feel. He worries about Hannibal. If he, an empath, cannot accept Abigail, how can he convince anyone else to? There is a small part of him that questions why they need the man on their side, the part of him which thinks the two of them to be a self-sustaining island. He feels a sort of lucidity at those times, if it can be called that. These are almost certainly the thoughts of another. Will knows how powerful he is, but power can only extend so far. Hannibal has influence and a great deal of it.

But he is human. An unorthodox, understanding human but…

Will rolls over to face the alarm clock and is hit by the vertigo of being suddenly upright. He falls over sideways, slipping on the dewy grass under the balls of his feet and cannot catch himself with his hands. He lands on his left shoulder with a loud thud in the quiet morning and it is, he is startled to note, morning now. He lifts himself, slightly, to see a field around him, his house in the distance like a boat on the water. There is twinge in knee and his shoulder throbs.

Winston sits in front of him and whines low in his throat. Will reaches out to pull him between his legs and hold him tightly.

“I know, I know.”

* * *

“Strange." Will looks around the living room as Hannibal hangs his coat behind him.

"What's that?" The man passes him and heads to a far room. The opening of a refrigerator signals a kitchen.

"My second session with you and I'm in your house." Will comments lightly and follows him into the kitchen. "I must have been a good boy."

Will had cuts on his feet and a skinned knee and he didn't know how bad his shoulder looked. It hurt every time he moved his arm, but he reasoned he’s had worse. He thought about calling his doctor for a second before he dialed Hannibal’s number. He didn't tell him he was hurt, only that he had fallen asleep in his bed and woken up outside, but that had been enough to warrant an invitation to the doctor’s house at eight in the morning, Will found.

"Will, you are not my patient." Hannibal is smiling but his words have weight. "These are not sessions."

Will holds up his hands in mock-surrender. "Yes, I understand. We're just friends. Talking. Sorry, hard to wrap my head around." He leans against the counter. "Don't have many of those."

Hannibal has lined ingredients for what looks to be more than for two people on the kitchen island, but self-titled ‘King of the Tuna Fish Sandwich’ Will can’t be sure.

“Only friends may call me at six in the morning in a frenzy.”

Will’s eyebrows draw together. “I was _not_ in a frenzy.” He realizes the other is teasing him, but he feels the point must be made.

“No, all things considered, you were fairly calm.” Hannibal smiles wanly. “I do not think you should be calm about this.”

“What’s the alternative? Let my mind win? Freak out?” Will places his hands on the counter as Hannibal turns from him to wash some fruit. “That can happen, you know? They can take over your whole mind, if you let them. I grew up with this intense fear that I would become my grandma, Hazel.” Hannibal turns his head a bit to show he’s listening. “She was everyone’s ‘grandma’. She had to go to a home when I was twelve and she spent the whole day watching television and never talking to anyone.”

“You secluded yourself for the week.” Hannibal turns back. His skill with food looks like playing to Will, but he sits and enjoys the show. “Did you let your mind win then?”

“I’m not sure.” He admits, examining his hands. “The case has been quiet. I needed some time to process everything.”

“You are unused to having so many people in your life.” Hannibal states, placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

Will nods shortly. He knows Hannibal means Abigail and himself, but there is much more to the statement. Beverly, Alana, Jack, even Freddie, to an extent. So many memories and associations jostling around his head. He doesn't remember how to clear them.

“I brought her here to eat with me.” Hannibal changes the subject, somewhat loftily. “Her nightmares have been increasing, as of late, and I felt she needed an escape. I’m surprised Doctor Bloom hasn't confided in you to sway you to her side.”

Will appreciates the man’s attempt at levity, snorting. “Nice try. You only call her Doctor Bloom when the two of you disagree on something.”

“When I’m trying to be professional.” Hannibal chides gently.

“Whatever.” Will sips his coffee. “What’d you do to piss her off, this time?”

“I gave her a Valium.” Will blinks and Hannibal pauses in his cooking. “Abigail, not Alana." He clarifies and Will thinks the man looks, for him at least, uncomfortable. “Though you may hear the story differently from Abigail.”

Will sets his cup down and stares at Hannibal. “What did you do?”

“Psychological supplementation,” Hannibal admits, “tea infused with psilocybin mushrooms.”

“You drugged her.” Will responds flatly.

“We ate sausage and eggs.”

Will is amazed at how similar he and Hannibal’s techniques are. Memory association, the good with the bad.

“Has it worked?” Will lifts his cup again. “With the nightmares?”

He thinks he sees Hannibal relax, slightly, before responding. “Why do you not call her and ask?”

“Yeah, okay.” Will takes a large gulp of his too-hot coffee and nods. “Alana’s probably right, you know?”

This time, he does see Hannibal relax and smile, too. “I know. She knows, as well.”

“I bet she does.” Will laughs. “You’re a pretty good, um,” he wants to say caretaker or guardian but he remembers their conversation in the car and mentally corrects himself, “dad or whatever. I mean, she likes you so don’t let Alana make you feel too bad.”

Hannibal seems to light up at the praise. “She may enjoy my company, but you understand her, Will.” He meets the other man’s eyes. “That is equally important.”

“I've never been responsible for a human before.” Will rakes a hand through his hair, lets out a quiet thanks when Hannibal slides a plate full of food in front of him. “I don’t _feel_ like I should be allowed to be responsible for a human.”

“Perhaps I was too bold with what I said.”

“No.” Will says around a mouthful of grapefruit. Hannibal winces, handing him a napkin and Will decides to swallow before trying to speak again. “Sorry, no. You were right. She may be out of the system, one day, able to take care of herself. Have a family, a life. But she’s vulnerable _now_. She’s a victim _now_. Who else is going to take care of her?”

“Alana is-”

“A very good therapist,” Will interrupts, “as you said. Not her mother and _not_ a trainer.”

Hannibal smiles. “It seems as though you've spent a great deal of time thinking about this.”

“I said I don’t think I should be responsible for Abigail.” Will reiterates. “I didn't say I don’t want to be. My mind is in two halves right now. The cases and,” he takes a great breath, “her case.”

“Perhaps it would be best to take a more permanent break from Jack’s team, as Alana first suggested.”

Will raises a brow at the use of her given name, recalling their earlier conversation. “I can’t quit, Hannibal.” He can hold Hannibal’s eyes easier than most, the edge of emotion dulled by whatever is going on in the other man’s head. “I’m the only one who understands them.”

He doesn't tell him that Abigail taught him that.

* * *

Will visits Abigail later that day, leftover food from Hannibal in a Tupperware container. Alana must have been there, recently. Abigail is pulling scarves from a bag, looking more like a magician than a fashion-conscious teenage girl. Her eyes are fixed on the brightly colored clothing, but they immediately train on Will as he enters the room and she sits up straighter. The guilt Will has pushed to the back of his mind hits him full force at the sight of her pitiful attempt at composure.

“Brought you lunch.” He greets.

“Hannibal?” She questions hopefully.

“Trust me, you don’t want anything I cook.” He laughs lightly. “Yeah, it’s Hannibal’s. I heard you left the clinic.” He pulls her desk chair next to the bed and straddles it backwards, arms resting across the back.

“Did Alana tell you?”

“No, Hannibal did.” He says into his sleeves.

“Well at least you talked to him.” She says, somewhat bitter. Will grimaces.

“Just this morning.” Will admits. “I've kept away from everyone, Abigail. Sorry, I just needed to,” he thinks, “process.”

She looks at him, her face blank. “It’s okay. I mean, I believe you.”

“Did you have a good time?” Will asked, genuinely curious.

“It was interesting.” She admits. A confused expression passes over her face. “Hannibal let me try mushrooms.”

“He told me.”

“I didn't tell him anything.” She assures quickly. “I was loopy but I don’t think I said anything, really. I mostly just hallucinated.”

“I believe you.” Will repeats her words from earlier, grabbing a light blue scarf from her bag. “What did you see?”

“My mom and dad.”

They are both silent. Will stands and coughs, wrapping the scarf loose around Abigail’s shoulders. “Want to go for a walk?”

* * *

As if overhearing his conversation with Hannibal, the next day brings a new scene.

“I don’t know if we needed you for this, Will.” Jack admits, ruefully.

Though bleak, the picture painted for the team, is a fairly straightforward one. Pieces of the victim’s body lay within the tableau; cut, no doubt, by the same ice that placed him there. Women's bodies are etched in the ice around him, naked, faces covered, mouths opened in silent screams.

“We've identified the victim as Timothy Mauchbauer, a professor here.” Beverly nods at the ice.

“And a rapist, it would seem.” Zeller’s voice is steely.

“We don’t know that, yet.” Beverly sounds more resigned. She turns to Will. “We talked to the dancers. Whatever this killer thought they knew about their dance instructor turned out to be true. Total psychopath.”

“Vigilante justice.” Jack shakes his head. “She thinks she’s doing the world a favor.”

“She thinks she’s doing _someone_ a favor.” Will corrects. “Let’s see if we can find out who.”

* * *

He had seen the man’s face clearly, this time, walking into a doorway and greeting a small boy. The woman’s hands had been there, taking the man known as Mauchbauer to pieces, ice slicing through muscle and bone like a scythe. She was at the door, too, wiping the same hands on a dishrag and watching the man lift the boy into the air.

His name is Michael.

“That’s him.” Will hands Jack his phone. Beverly goes rigid behind him and Will eyes her, curious. “Bev?”

“Katz, you know something?” Jack raises a brow.

“I went to his house, after our second vic.” She admits. Her eyes are a well of regret. “I had a feeling about him. His wife is a water conduit.”

“What?” Jack rounds on her and she shakes her head.

“I didn't talk to her, just watched from across the street while she played with their kid. She was so,” Beverly struggles, sounding lost. “I didn't think it could be her. She didn't match the profile. She’s not a student.”

“Ten years ago.” Price speaks quietly, for once. “Student records show she was his student ten years ago.”

Will places a hand on Beverly shoulder and tries to block out the sadness he feels radiating from her.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Jack grinds out. “Let’s get some immobilizing cuffs and a team on that street, _now_.”

* * *

Greensboro is small and the anti-conduit response team surrounds the house in record time. The son greets them first, his mother following soon after. Will examines the familiar hands clasped to her son’s chest, holding him to her and thinks, for a sick moment, she may use him for a shield.

“Madeline Macaso?” Jack addresses the mother, avoids looking to the child. “I’m Jack Crawford with the FBI. This is Will Graham. We were just wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

Madeline mirrors Jack, looking between the two men in front of her, before slowly leaning over and whispering, “Phillip, go play upstairs,” in her son’s ear. She looks frightened only until her son looks at her and then she is the picture of perfect happiness. They remind him of Molly his young nephew, Hunter. It should be his fifth birthday soon…

Her eyes trail her son upstairs and when Phillip has disappeared from view, his footsteps muffled by the carpet, she turns back with a small smile. “Come in, please.”

Jack sits on her couch, almost immediately. Will examines the pictures on the tables. Michael and Madeline and Phillip are a very photogenic, very _quaint_ family. No doubt described as ‘sweet’ or ‘perfect’.

“That was our honeymoon, in Spain.” Madeline sounds wistful, standing beside Will and looking at the pictures with him. “It was so lovely.”

Will can’t look at her, yet, so he turns to Jack, instead. The man gives an affirmative nod and he turns back to face Madeline. Holds her gaze.

“You said you wanted to ask me something?”

_Professor Mauchbauer kissing a student, then another, and another and Will can feel Madeline’s rage in his head like it’s his own. Ice pins him to the wall by his shoulders and his ankles and the tendrils of water she throws across the room freezes on their path to his body, as though she’s performing a knife-toss at a magic show. His body falls into pieces at her feet._

Will pulls away, breathing heavily and looks to Jack with a few quick nods. Madeline stumbles backwards to the nearby ottoman, holding her head.

“This house is surrounded by an anti-conduit grid focused on your powers, Ms. Macaso. I’m going to put these on you now, do you understand?” Jack asks, as a kindness, more than anything. She nods, shakily as he puts the handcuffs on her small wrists. “They’re power-dampening. When we transport you from this area to a more secure facility, tomorrow, you will still have your abilities, but will be unable to use them.”

“Do I,” she gulps, “can I have a lawyer?”

Will closes his eyes. He hates this part. “You are a conduit. Under the law of North Carolina you have no legal rights to a lawyer. You have no right to a fair trial by your peers because you have no true peers. The laws, as they apply to humans do _not_ apply to you.” Jack’s voice softens somewhat. “Do you understand?”

She sets her jaw and nods, once. “Can I say goodbye to Phillip?”

Jack looks up the stairs and back at her. “Make it quick.”

* * *

Will doesn't sleep that night, doesn't dream. They fly back to Virginia the next day and Will spends a good part of the trip talking to Beverly about her mistake, thinking he may field Jack and tell her not to blame herself. He half-expected her to fall into a depression, as he may have, but Beverly is a different breed and her will turned to steel in the wake of her missteps. She is just as bright as she was the day prior.

Madeline is a very subdued prisoner, Will surmises. Even when they told her she couldn't wait for Michael to get to the house, she took it with what he might have called nonchalance. In fact, she speaks only once, during the trip, when they move her from the plane to a van which will take her into Baltimore.

“I couldn't stand him coming home every night talking about all of his worthless co-workers. I always knew he was a brilliant teacher. He deserved the best. After I manifested there was finally something I could do about it.”

“You think he wanted this?” Jack breathes. “That he'll be _happy_ when he learns what you did?"

She looks stricken. Her hands are tight in her lap. "He's so smart." She settles. "I can only hope he'll understand."

“And your son?” Will questions, evenly.

She looks up, her face is an unreadable mask, but her mind is open.

_The bathtub drains, Phillip splashes water into her face. Phillip in the desert, on hands and knees, drawing water from the cracks in the ground. Madeline lays a hand over his and the water freezes slowly. A patch of ice in the desert._

"He'll understand."

* * *

That night, Will dreams of Cassie Boyle in the field, gored by the Ravenstag. The little girl is nowhere to be seen. She has fled from the field before Will arrives. Cassie is awake, mouth open in abject terror and her face shifts to Phillip’s then Abigail’s.

When Will wakes between scratchy hotel sheets, Will scrubs off his face in the water at the sink, watches it drip for a while and makes a decision.

* * *

The Conduit Lockdown in Baltimore is run by Frederick Chilton and Will can’t think of a place he holds in lower regard. As sickening as the DUP holding cells and Training facilities make Will, nothing seems to come close. Can’t train them and too afraid to keep them locked up with the DUPs, Chilton’s little madhouse is where they put the conduits they don’t know what to do with.

Maybe Will’s afraid they may not let him leave.

Chilton greets Jack and Will at the entrance. Will finds the man as unsettling as the building, itself. Tall and thin and razor sharp eyes. If he didn't look so desperate he might draw a comparison to Hannibal, but then he supposes he already had and Chilton just fell immensely short.

Chilton ignores Will, for the most part, talking to Jack about Madeline’s temporary room, and Will is happy to be ignored. When they reach the man’s extravagant office, Will reaches out to scratch at the edge of his mind and snaps back when he hits a wall of static.

"Nuh-uh, none of that now." Chilton chides, his conversation interrupted. Jack looks between them, lost. "Your tricks won't work in this office."

Will narrows his eyes. "My tricks?"

"A/V conduit.” The man points to each corner of the room as he speaks. “The DUP gave me a nice set up to channel my powers through, here. Told me as long as we were in this room, you wouldn't be able to pull your normal stunts."

"Is that what they told you?" Will smirks, unrepentant, and Chilton gulps.

"Doctor Chilton," Jack interrupts with a cough, eyeing Will exasperatedly, "you said you wanted to discuss the specifics of the Gideon case with me?"

Chilton continues to eye Will as he places a tape in front of Jack. "Have a listen," he orders, finally looking at the other man. "I'll show your _guest_ to Ms. Macaso's cell."

Will and Jack share a look, the latter clearly telling him to behave as Will follows Chilton out.

"I know what you think of me, my profession." Chilton says airily, a few steps ahead now. "You think you're better."

"I am." Will answers without thinking. He’s not better than Hannibal or Alana, but Chilton, certainly. "No need of bells and whistles with my _tricks_."

"Maybe," The other man replies, "but you need your powers just as much as I do."

"We’re not in your office anymore. What would you do, right now, _Frederick_ , if I wanted to see what's on your mind?" Will asks, genuinely curious.

"Let you know that my powers allow all of the conversations in the facility to be recorded." He replies smoothly. "And if my death puts one more psychopathic conduit in here, I've done this facility proud."

Will laughs, darkly. He can feel the fear under the other man’s skin. "You're not that brave."

"And you're not that stupid." Chilton turns and motions to the end of the hall, where Madeline, presumably, is. "Just shout when you're done, Mr. Graham."

* * *

Will doesn't know his goal, coming to see Madeline, but he doesn't expect her to speak first.

“Michael hasn't called me.” She admits, sighing loudly.

“It’s only been a day.” Will shrugs. “They’ll have to question him and he’ll have a lot of paperwork. Then there’s the shock. You know, from the _murders_.” Madeline stares at him, flatly, one brow raised and he continues. “Are you worried," she tilts her head, "Phillip." He elaborates.

Her eyes widen in understanding. "Phillip will have a good," she chooses her words carefully, “education, with or without me. I just laid the base work."

He thinks of Professor Mauchbauer’s face suspended in ice, of Madeline's hand guiding her son's to coat a patch of desert to pure white. "And your plans?"

"You can assure whoever is asking my husband that my plans were my own. Besides, Timothy was the last name on my list."

"People like you don't just _stop_."

"Michael's name will be on the front page of every newspaper.” She sits a little straighter and her tone is prim. “He'll finally be able to publish his book."

"There are easier ways to publish a book." Will almost finds humor in this. "Conduits. Always doing things the hard way."

Madeline smiles through the bars. "Like drawing water from a stone."

"I think it's supposed to be blood."

Madeline shrugs lightly.

Will pockets his hands. "If your husband _does_ call, tell him to contact Freddie Lounds." The name tastes acidic on his tongue but he pushes forward. "Don’t know if they let you read it, but she's the one who wrote your lovely villain piece on Tattlecrime this morning."

At this, Madeline's look shifts from slight amusement to confusion. "Michael's book is about the impact of the Silk Road on modern trade networks." She trails off.

Will reaches out, a tendril of a thought. _An image of Peter in the desert. Of Freddie's DARPA badge._ "Then maybe _you_ should talk to Ms. Lounds."

Madeline's face breaks out into a smile and he wonders if it was the right thing to say.

* * *

Will is forced into a nap on Abigail’s new couch as soon as he arrives to visit her. He supposes he hadn't  _specifically_ told Hannibal not to tell Alana about his nighttime field exploration and this  _is_ a good way to get him to sleep, but he still feels cheated. After all, he hasn't mentioned the mushrooms. Much of his Alana-imposed nap is spent divided between pouting and glaring at Abigail, who divides her time between playing cards with Alana and laughing at Will.

At least she’s laughing, he thinks.

Still, Will's appreciation for Alana’s concern wears off after a few hours, though her stubbornness does not. He is suddenly glad he never mentioned his run-in with Freddie Lounds and the small amount of trust he has placed in the journalist. Abigail tells him to escape when she sends Alana for food.

He calls Hannibal instead.

It’s only the second time Will’s been here, but Will decides he likes Hannibal’s house, despite its size. He never thought he’d like a big house, but then he’d always thought a big house would feel empty. This house doesn't feel empty, as he imagined these houses would. It feels more like a small patch of country, something to be explored, breathed in and felt, though admittedly not something Will may appreciate the way it’s meant to be.

“I like this place.” Will reveals his thoughts and Hannibal turns with a small smile.

“I quite like it myself.” Hannibal has poured himself a glass of dark wine and prepares to do the same for Will before the other stills him with a small shake of his head. “Can I offer you something else? Brandy? Whiskey, perhaps?”

“You trying to get me drunk, doctor?” Will snorts, smiling slightly. “Nothing, thanks. Family of alcoholics, desperate lush and a Reader on top of all of that? I don’t want to tempt fate.”

Hannibal smiles, nose in his wine. "Tell me about the case."

* * *

They are both in Hannibal's living room when Will is finished with his story. Drinking and waiting for the food in the oven. Lemonade for Will, wine for Hannibal. "You wanted to know what I thought, before, about conduits and humans."

Hannibal nods. "I admit, I am curious. After our conversation with Doctor Bloom on the subject, more so."

"When a human gets mad, they punch a wall, maybe yell a little. A conduit loses their temper, they could cause an earthquake a mile wide. So, yeah, I'm all for segregation." Will smiles humorlessly. "Don't tell Alana."

“And, yet, this conduit you protected.” Hannibal muses.

“By giving her a name?” Will scoffs.

“A name is an opportunity.” Hannibal shifts in his chair. “And one that few others would have given to someone in her position. She and her son were lucky to have been found out by a Reader as understanding as yourself.”

“ _We're_ lucky.” Will corrects. “We have people on our side. Abigail has us," he looks to Hannibal who nods in affirmation, "I work in a field that conduits are drawn to. I might actually have a shot at getting a trial if I,” he swallows, “if something ever happens where I might need one. When I reached into Madeline's mind, it was like water in a desert. She loved, was loved, but she couldn't believe any of it. I don’t think his father knows he has a conduit for a son."

"Madeline did not trust her husband to tell him of her lack of control, not even her son's powers. She loved him, but she did not trust him." Hannibal nods in understanding. "To form a connection there must be trust, Will."

_And I can’t protect you if you lie to me._

"Are you envious of Madeline?" Will's eyebrows draw together in a silent question. "Her son, she told everything. In your relationship with Abigail, I cannot imagine you have told her how it felt to kill her father."

_The things he did. I still have dreams._

Will shakes his head, his mind, again, divided. "Not jealous." He sighs, concentrating on the conversation in front of him. "I understand her. She could never love Michael the way he wanted her to so she," he winces, "made it up to him the only way she knew how."

"She gave him a gift." Hannibal elaborates.

_Do you think we should tell him?_

Will puts down his glass

"Madeline told Phillip everything.” He murmurs.

_We are her fathers now, Will. I do not wish to leave you alone in this._

“Will?”

“I thought,” Will swallows, “visiting her might give me some _clue_ about how to protect Abigail. You said we're her fathers.” He shrugs. “Fathers protect their daughters. I’m just not sure how."

As he admitted to Hannibal, he hasn't actually thought this through to its end. Would he really be able to protect Abigail were he on his own? Would he be able to kill Hannibal? He  _could_  do it, surely. He was capable.

But would he, if the moment came?

“Some children are more difficult than others.” Hannibal takes what Will presumes to be a rather large drink of wine before continuing. “We will simply have to try harder.”

"She’s a _killer_ , Hannibal.” Will lets out his breath. He only looks up from his glass when Hannibal does not immediately react. The other man looks as he always does, immaculate and slightly curious. Will breathes in deep and speaks quietly. "Did you know?"

"I had an idea." Hannibal closes his eyes. "It is regrettable, the things Garrett Jacob Hobbs put his daughter through. I am glad she has decided to confide them in you."

Will sets his glass down and holds his face, pushing his hands up and through his curls. Hannibal is looking away from him. He seems, to Will’s mind, nervous.

Will had found his subconscious reflecting more on the deaths of his friends. Alana, Beverly, even Freddie Lounds had made an appearance, her loathsome face mounted on the stag’s head, in rictus. In waking he thought around their deaths, thought of escape and illusion. His nightmares were not as kind to them.

"Will, you have apologized to me, and to Abigail, I presume, for the way Hobbs' death was handled." Will nods. "Tell me, would you apologize to him?"

"Funny thing about killing a psychopath is that it doesn't leave a lot of room for guilt."

"I have known those who would disagree with you."

Will is no longer in the room, at least he thinks he might not be. The girl from Hannibal's head is standing behind the other man's chair now. He can feel the Ravenstag's breath huff over his curls. Even as the antlered beast passes him to meet the girl in the middle of the room, Will finds a steady voice.

"Were Garrett Jacob Hobbs able to hear me, I might thank him." He admits. Hannibal looks intrigued. "I've had a few good dreams about killing him. _Since_ killing him." He corrects distantly. He is watching the girl with a wary eye. She is hopping in front of the beast, who seems entertained, for his part. "And there's Abigail. Even if we're both watching our backs for the rest of our lives, thanks to him."

“You and Abigail have been kind enough to share your secret with me." Hannibal stands, places his glass on the mantle. His nervousness earlier has dissipated and he meets Will’s eyes, as though he has reached a decision. Will sits back, tries to hide his confusion. His eyes are drawn to the man's forearms as he rolls up his sleeves. The muscle on them surprises Will and, though he isn't sure he has enough experience to judge such things, they seem like very _nice_ muscles.

“It is only polite I should return the favor.”

It starts behinds his eyes and Will worries that he may be having another episode, will wake up in a field somewhere, but it quickly jumps to his neck; a tingling, a buildup, down his arms. Like something is going to happen.

The girl and the stag vibrate in place and he can’t tell if it’s his vision or the room itself. He reaches out to touch the table, which moves under his hand, then stills, and he feels himself relax, if only marginally.

Will stares at the space around them in wonderment. He can still feel the static buildup tapering out through the soles of his feet. The long shock has run the course of his body and he runs his hands along his arm to see his hair stand on end. He lets out a short, manic laugh.

"You're a conduit." Will says dumbly.

"I am unregistered." Hannibal is rolling his sleeves back down as though the entire performance had been as watching a waiter refill a glass of water. It is only after the rush of endorphins flow out of him, the static fleeing the room, that Will realizes the power Hannibal has displayed.

"That's electromagneticism," he says, bewildered slightly, "you and Hobbs shared a skill set."

Hannibal shakes his head. "All that we shared was our status and our ability to keep a secret. Mimicry is my true skill set," Will cocks his head to the side, "I can absorb the powers of other conduits and use them to suit my own purposes."

"You absorb other's powers." Will repeats.

"This," he flexes his hand, "was a gift from Garrett Jacob Hobbs. We share a skill set because I _stole_ his skill set."

Will twitches as the stag lays down heavily, his antlers very close to Hannibal's stomach. Will closes his eyes. Cassie Boyle's gored body is stretched like a canvas over his lids and he opens them immediately. "Like a copycat."

Hannibal stills, his glass halfway to his lips, before finishing the sip, not a drop out of place. "If you wish to call it that."

"That's a dangerous trick."

"Only as dangerous as what I copy." The man lifts an eyebrow. Will thinks he may be talking about him. He eyes the man skeptically and blushes, remembering quite a few embarrassingly annoying thoughts about nice forearms.

“Can you,” Will trails off, motioning to his own head.

“If I absorbed your powers, you would know.” Hannibal replies, flatly. Finally. “It is not often a,” he pauses, “ _delicate_ process.”

Will doesn't know the word for how he feels. _Nice_ , he supposes, that someone else carries a piece of that monster around with them. Abigail always would. She and her father were tied together, for better or worse, but that Hannibal chose to take something makes Will feel a little less alone.

“How did you take Hobbs’ power?” He questions. “After he died?”

“He was still alive before the paramedics came for Abigail.” Hannibal explains, taking his seat again. “The process is indelicate, but unnoticeable to someone in shock, as you were.”

“You just _used_ your powers in front of me? That was risky.” Will huffs out a breath. “And I didn't even notice.”

“I was very angry.” Hannibal smiles indulgently. “And we had both had a very rough day.”

Will laughs shortly, “You don’t make things easy, you know?”

“I never intended to.”

Will reaches across the table before Hannibal can raise his wine, plucking the glass from his hand and drinking deep. His eyes rest on the little girl, still and watching him back.

"Varna varnui akies nekirs." She says, lays over the belly of the stag and rests the crown of her head in a tuft of feathers.

When he feels safe in his own head, he'll have to ask the doctor what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this weird creation for as long as you guys have!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang takes a breath after the Macaso case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter with some lighthearted moments. This is also the chapter that crosses over with the sidefic Oil and Light, which tracks Beverly and Alana's backstories to this point. Enjoy!

“What’s going to happen to her now?” Abigail walks between Alana and Will. “I mean, she did terrible things, but she was still,” she goes quiet and Will knows Abigail’s thoughts are with her own parents, now, the feelings swirling around her more melancholy.

“We’ll try to get her help,” Alana speaks slowly, her normally calm voice, uncertain, “but in cases like hers, the best chance she has is with Chilton.”

“She won’t get help, there.” Will looks forward.

“She’ll be _safe_.” Alana argues and Will shrugs. In his own way, Dr. Chilton does provide Will his dream of segregation. It’s the side order of oppression he takes issue with.

“How did a manifest get that powerful?” Abigail stops, turning to Alana fully. “I’ve been reading the articles, Alana. She _went_ to training.”

Will is impressed. As scared as her voice sounds, her mind is floating and calm. Alana smiles, indulgently. “Training won’t help a broken mind, Abigail. She needed help a training facility didn’t even know to offer.”

Abigail’s own fears are being projected back at him across a live wire. She’s practically shouting at him in her mind and Will brushes the back of her hand with his own, settling her. “It’s okay to be frightened of your powers. Will and I have an advantage as naturals, when it comes to control,” and Will smiles thinking that’s probably the closest Alana will ever come to admitting he may be fine on his own, “but manifests like Ms. Macaso and yourself can be _immensely_ powerful.”

“In terms of control, nothing comes close to a natural,” Will shrugs, “it’s what we’re born into.”

“Like my dad.” Abigail points out and Will very solidly manages not to blink.

“Like Garrett Jacob Hobbs.” Will replies.

“Manifests are powerful _because_ they lack the control of a natural.” Alana continues. "It's the reason why manifests are so highly encouraged into training. Naturals are given a little more leeway, in that respect."

“I know I need to control myself.” Abigail is nodding quickly, looking at Alana from beneath her lashes. “I don’t want to be like her. Like,” she swallows, “like him.”

“The facility is still accepting-”

“I don’t want that either.” Abigail interrupts, lips a thin line.

“What do you want, Abigail?” Will asks, quietly.

“I don’t know.” She turns to him with watery eyes that he doesn't believe for a second. He _can’t_ believe. He can read her, after all.

And she feels elated.

* * *

Outside of the clinic, Alana finally seems to breath. “I feel like I just got played.”

“You did.” Will shrugs, smiling. “But it’s for a good cause.”

“You know _you_ can’t be the one to train her, right?” Alana nearly growls.

“I know. I wouldn't want to.” He admits, honestly. After only a little cajoling, Alana had agreed to private training sessions with a tutor of _Alana’s_ choice. While training still wasn't something Will agreed with, in the wake of this new case, he knew Jack was going to have one more reason to look at a manifest like Abigail with hungry eyes. It also served the dual purpose of making Alana happy, which seemed to make everyone happy. Her moods could be toxic. “I can suggest someone, though.”

“Oh, _really_?” Alana questions sardonically.

“Seems only fair since you suggested my would-be therapist,” Will counters swiftly and she has the good grace to blush, “but no hard feelings on that.”

“I’m surprised you know a trainer.” Alana pulls out her phone.

“I don’t.” He says. “She’s an agent over at the BAU. Beverly Katz,” Alana types with her thumbs, “Luminescence conduit. Manifest.”

“A friend?” Alana smiles lightly.

Will pauses. “Yes. She’ll get along with Abigail.” He says. “I think she needs someone like her. Not that you’re lacking, or anything,” He blushes and Alana takes pity on him, laughing.

“It’s fine, Will, I know what you mean. If there’s anything this week alone with Abigail has taught me it’s that we’re not exactly,” she grimaces, “compatible. Personality-wise. She’s lovely to talk to but she’s like the unruly teenager I never wanted. I could probably teach her some control exercises if I wanted to go bald a few years early.”

“You, bald?” Will smiles. “At the _most_ I’m seeing a classic streak of gray.”

“Is that your read?” She chuckles and he shrugs helplessly. He’s about to head back inside when he feels her mood sober.

“You’re worried about something?”

“You _are_ reading me!” She slaps his arm lightly with a little noise of shock.

“I can’t help it, Alana.” Will rubs his arm in mock hurt. “You put out bad moods like a lamppost. Most people do, to be fair, though it’s rare for a natural.” He adds at her crestfallen expression, “Your moods are just more expressive. Maybe it’s an oil thing?”

“Good thing I avoided being alone with you for so long, then.”

“You were doing that? Don’t do that.” Will shakes his head. “Beverly’s the same way when she’s excited or happy.”

“Oil and light,” Alana grins a little at that. “That must be a sight.”

“Now we have to get her to help.” He smiles at her weak rhyme. “I know you’re upset, but I can’t read minds, Alana. What’s wrong?”

“I didn't want to scare Abigail.” She admits. “She’s new to all this and I don’t want her to judge everything too harshly.” Will clamps his jaw shut. “I know things are getting better, _slowly_ , and I try not to let the politics bother me but cases like Abigail’s and Madeline’s,” She lets out a deep breath. “I don’t know what lawyer would take her, but at least a human would get the chance. You know?”

Will does. Working with the FBI has afforded him certain privileges but it’s allowed him to see those privileges at work. “They’ll let us be their guard dogs, but when push comes to shove, that’s all we are to them. Animals.” Alana winces. “I feel like we were supposed to be born on a different planet. We wouldn't have to worry about things like this and people would only be afraid for the _normal_ reasons, not some _bioterrorist_ uprising.”

“Normal reasons? Like wives murdering them to get publicity for their husband’s book?”

Will laughs and thinks of some of the human crime scenes he’s seen. “You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t think I would.” She snorts. “Another planet, huh? I was always a fan of ships, instead. You know, Star Trek.”

“Didn't have you pegged as a Trekkie.” He shrugs. “I liked M.A.S.H. and Dallas.”

“Of course you did.” She smiles. “I’m worried about her son. With all the media attention this is getting,” she trails off and Will nods. She doesn't know how bad it could actually be.

* * *

Whatever he was going to ask her about training and her plans is cut off by Abigail as he walks back in. “Do your dogs ever get lonely?” She questions from her desk. She is huddled over her journal and, from what Will can see, it is filled with elaborate designs.

“I can’t read them if that’s what you’re asking.” He tells her, moving to sit on the ledge of the window, now padded by a soft, yellow cushion. “Dogs don’t sense time the way people do. I probably miss them more than they miss me.”

“I forgot to say congrats. On the case.” She elaborates, closing her journal and looking up at him. “What was she like to read?”

Will walks Abigail through the first two crime scenes, focusing on the images in his mind and leaving out the more grisly bits. He tells her that Phillip is a natural, says it easily and Abigail doesn't even blink “I gave Madeline a name. Someone to protect him."

"No one to link him to you or Hannibal." She looks concerned.

"No one to link him to any of us." Will assures.

“How do you see my power?” Abigail turns in her chair to face him. “Not,” she licks her lips, “not a scene like my dad or Madeline’s. Just everyday stuff.”

“I block it out most of the time.” He says. “Wouldn't be able to function in a crowd without walls.”

"What happens when you don't?"

Will laughs. "Chaos." She tilts her head. The movement reminds Will of Hannibal. "Controlled chaos." He thinks of Beverly's light and the copper around Zeller's fingertips. The way emotion seems to pour out of Jack and Alana like a well. Manifest, natural, human, all three battle around him; different and equally frustrating.

Then there was Hannibal with his blissfully clear mind. Perhaps it has something to do with his powers and Will thinks he’ll have to be careful in how he tells Abigail that bit of information. Maybe Hannibal will want to let her know on his own.

"What do I look like right now?" She interrupts his thoughts.

Will sighs, expands his view. Sparks shoot up Abigail's spine, pulsate in quick staccato. Particles in the air around her expand outwards. She is a _force_.

"You're gravity." He limits his mind, again, the pressure building behind his eyes to signal the start of a headache. "Static clings to you like a sheet, the world repels from you, moves out of your path without thought. I see a power to shape continents, move worlds."

Abigail looks at her hand. "Wow."

Will looks at the clock. It’s almost seven.

“I should call Hannibal, tell him I’ll be late.” Will sighs and Abigail’s body goes a little straighter. “Unless you want him to come here.”

“Have you,” she stutters, “did you tell him? About the tricks I learned?”

Abigail’s ‘card trick’ was the code they decided to use when talking on the phone, but apparently her insecurity brought it out as well. “He knows.” Will says shortly. “Maybe not everything, I’m going to let you tell him that but,” he realizes how much like a mother he sounds and quiets his tone, opts for honesty, “he already knew. He seemed...glad you wanted to tell him.”

“And he still,” Abigail’s eyebrows draw together. It was something they had both suspected but, clearly, she had never let herself believe. "He wasn't," he can tell she wants to say disappointed, doesn't know a way, "proud?"

"It's just a card trick, Abigail." He remembers when he only  _wanted_ to talk to her on the phone and curses the sentiment. Longs to say what he means. That those girls don't matter to Hannibal, they don't matter to Will, now. All that matters is protecting her. He settles on, "He has a card trick to show you."

She is silent for a long time and Will begins to think he has misspoken. That she may not understand. After a moment, however, her head raises and she smiles at him. "Really?"

"Really." He breaths a sigh. "I think you'll be impressed. He's a magician." He smiles, wonders if Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Abigail ever had a secret language.

He hopes they didn't.

* * *

Hannibal is still in a session when Will calls, so he leaves a message on his phone and goes downstairs for a quick snack. When he returns, Abigail is doodling again and Will goes to the window, both settling in until Hannibal arrives. When the other man joins them, Abigail looks up and smiles widely.

“Hello, Abigail.” He hangs his coat by the door and moves to stand between the bed and the window. “Will.”

Will nods at Hannibal. This is first time they've been together since Abigail’s secret has been exposed between the three and he is stunned at how comfortable he feels with that knowledge.

“Will said you had a card trick to show me?”

“Of a sort.” Hannibal raises a brow at Will, who smirks in return.

* * *

Will has to return to his lectures the next day and his time on the field has only served to remind him how much he hates being around the students in his classroom. But they’re going out into the field, themselves, and he  _does_ want them to be good at what they do. So in the classroom he stays.

Jack corners Will to talk about Abigail after his first class and he is given a further reason to hate being here.

Will interrupts him when he starts drawing comparisons to Madeline, as he knew the man inevitably would. “Why are you asking me about Abigail Hobbs? My bias makes me no good to you on this. You’re having Hannibal report on her too, I _know_ you are.” Will tosses the remains of his paltry lunch in the trash beside him. “What does he have to say?”

Jack snorts. “According to Doctor Bloom, I shouldn't trust either of your opinions on Abigail Hobbs.”

“Then don’t. I'm right,” Will reasons and Jack rolls his eyes. “but, in your shoes, I wouldn't trust us either. We got too close to the case." He admits. "I recommended Beverly to train Abigail, one-on-one.” He adds.

“Katz?” Jack manages to look intrigued.

“Just the basics, but I think she’d be a good fit.” Will explains. “Alana’s probably told you that Abigail is afraid of training.”

“And that’s not suspicious.” Jack comments.

“If you’d ever been faced with it you wouldn't be saying that.” Will grits out and Jack nods, once, in silent apology. “Something closer to a private tutor is less imposing.”

"It would be someone else to keep an eye on her.” Jack concedes, rubbing his jaw. Will thinks Jack has enough of those but, wisely, keeps silent.

"Did you come out here to discuss something relevant?" Will's mood is soured further by the righteousness in Jack's mind. The knowledge it is _truth_ itches under Will’s skin. "My job, for instance."

"Hey, I'm sticking my neck out for you, every time you enter a crime scene, Will. You have something to say about Hobbs, take it up with the evidence.” Jack is clearly done talking about this too; chewing on the new information Will has fed him. He continues, a little lighter. "We've been hands-off with the Gideon case, so far."

"Understandable," Will crosses his arms, "Fairly standard, as far as murderers go." He thinks there must be something wrong with him if murdering your family over Thanksgiving dinner now constitutes as _fairly standard_.

"Frederick Chilton has discovered new evidence that has shed some darkness to that theory." Jack takes a deep breath before speaking again. "Abel Gideon is claiming to be Chesapeake Ripper."

"That's a dangerous game. One psychopath pretending to be another." Will's tone is skeptical.

"You don't believe it."

“Abel Gideon is a human. The Ripper only makes himself look like one.”

“The only proof we have to that is his strength, which any human could mimic with time and training." Jack stops. "And Miriam's read."

"It's a good one." Will says, defiant. "As for strength," he raises a brow, "Gideon?"

"Chilton's been talking with him at the Baltimore lockup. They've relocated him to his facility, just in case."

"Better safe than sorry, I guess. But, Jack," Will gives him a significant look, "remember what I said about bias? He's _not_ the Ripper."

"The tapes are very compelling." Will notes that Jack doesn’t bother correcting him.

"I'm sure they are." Will tries for comfort. "You've been close to this case for a while. Don't let hope confuse you."

Jack looks at him and nods with a sigh.

Will wonders if the swell of hope and pride he had felt earlier, the righteousness in Jack’s mind, had been about Abigail at all.

* * *

"Jack may do well to look to Gideon's masters." Hannibal says later, from the space below Will.

"You mean Chilton?" He stops his perusal of the books in Hannibal's library to shoot the doctor an incredulous look. "Wow me, then. How does someone like him play into this?"

"It's a process we refer to as psychic driving. Gideon may no more believe he is the Chesapeake Ripper than you or I. Or the thought could have been placed there by a very convincing psychiatrist."

Will snorts. "Have you met _Frederick_?" He turns to walk backwards down the ladder.

"Indeed," Hannibal nods slightly, holds out a hand to help Will from the last few rungs. "Perhaps not the best therapist, but do not underestimate his ability to read others."

Will drops from the ladder and lets go of his hand.

* * *

Beverly grabs Will on the way out of his class the next week. She is standing outside with Zeller and Price and demands he join them for a celebratory drink.

“It's only 6 'clock.” Will glances at his watch. “What are we celebrating?”

“Everything was thawed thanks to some very lovely pyrokenetics on loan from the DUP.” Price grins. “We’re finally done sorting evidence.”

“Case closed.” Beverly pats Will’s shoulder, the two of them leading the pack out of the building and towards the parking lot.

“I’m not sure why we even bother with it.” Zeller intones from behind him. Will stiffens and thinks Price must have reacted in some way, too, because the other man hastens to add, “I mean, not like that. It’s just, why bother gathering all this evidence and storing it? What’s the point? It’s not like there’s going to be a trial.”

“Maybe someday,” Price replies cheerfully, “and in the meantime, we minions push the cogs in the machine.”

“Keep calm and carry on.” Beverly smiles, shining brightly in the low light of the evening. “Besides, we could use this in another case.” The thought is an uplifting, if slightly morbid, one.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Katz,” Price argues loudly, over the din of the bar, “Kim is your man!”

“Why, because I’m Asian, you racist? He’s a human,” her eyes slide to Zeller for a quick second, “no offense, Brian.”

“Now who’s racist?” Price counters and Beverly flicks him off. “Besides, _everyone_ knows Patel is leaning towards segregation.”

“I don’t care!” Beverly laughs. “Even _if_ she gets elected, there’s no way she’d be able to pull it off. At least she has a plan. Kim is living in la-la land, with his thumb up his ass! We elect him and he won’t do _shit_ for us conduits!”

“Ugh, you _promised_ this wouldn't end in another politics discussion.” Zeller groans. “Can we just skip to the end and agree that everyone is pretty except for Brasswell?”

“Can’t _believe_ he’s still on the board.” Price looks murderous and, though Will's surprised to see it on the usually jovial man’s face, he doesn’t blame him. Edward Brasswell started a 50-state tour before the electoral term, preaching the end of bioterrorism and the rise of a human-only DUP, with more protection against the so-called bioterrorist threat. Worse still, people had listened enough for him to hold the third highest count in votes. He sat below the current leader of the DUP, Allison Patel, and a member of the senate, Suro Kim.

Will is sure he won’t vote for any of them. Patel runs on claims of trying to change things from within the DUP, shaping it into a Department of Unified Protection for humans and conduits alike. It’s mostly bullshit and though Will supports segregation, her idea of the conduits in their cages and the humans running free chills him to the bone. She’s a glass conduit and head of the training facilities. She’s more hands on with the DUP in the West coast and, as far as Will is concerned, she can stay there.

Kim is someone Will has heard about from Alana, more than anyone. Knowing what he does about Beverly's past, he's surprised she isn't more supportive of the man. Friend to the conduits, keeper of the peace in the senate, he gained national popularity overnight when he overturned a law allowing humans to divorce their conduit spouses on grounds of manifestation. The bill was ridiculous, but it had left many young conduits penniless. Alana likes his idealism and, clearly, the rest of the nation does, too.

“I heard you talked to Macaso when you and Jack visited Chilton’s.” Beverly turns to address Will. “How did she seem?”

Will considers this. “I can see what you meant when you said she didn't seem the sort. She was very nonchalant about the whole thing.”

“Psycho.” Zeller’s eyes widen, comically and Price clinks their beers together.

“Jack says they may allow her supervised visitations with her son.” Beverly drinks from her own bottle. “That’s big, right?”

“Are we worried about the rights of a psycho killer, now?” Zeller questions. “Conduit _or_ human?”

Price laughs and says something about Zeller feeling left out. Will ignores it in favor of his phone. He signals to Beverly and she lets him out of the booth as he answers.

“Hello?”

“It’s loud,” Abigail’s voice responds, “where are you?”

“One second.” He waits until he’s outside to speak again. “Sorry, Beverly dragged me to a bar. I think I’m supposed to be bonding.” Mostly he was just staring at a beer placed in front of him forlornly, finding himself too polite to correct Beverly after she tried to _read_ what kind of alcohol he preferred.

“Oh. I thought you might come over.”

“Oh.” Will repeats, dumbly. “I’m sorry, Abigail, I didn't think,”

“It’s fine.” She sighs. “It’s just you usually do, even for a few minutes, and you have a pretty dangerous job, you know. I got worried.”

“Oh.” Will repeats _again_ , with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Is Beverly the woman who’s training me?”

“Who told you that?”

“Alana.” She replies. So Alana _had_ called Beverly. Neither one had mentioned it to him. He’ll have to say something when he goes back in. “You shouldn't have suggested her. She works with Jack and he came today, too. It’s dangerous.”

“You didn't have to suggest training.” Will points out, though he’s worried about Jack’s presence there without Hannibal or Will to back her up.

“I had to suggest _something_. I think this will make me look a little better. Also, Alana's _really_ stubborn.” Abigail groans and Will nods in silent agreement. “This seemed like the easiest path.”

“Well, Beverly is nice,” Will says, “you be nice.”

“ _You_ be nice.” She counters. “Nice doesn't mean protection. You’re not always nice.”

“True.” Will laughs. “Beverly’s got a soft spot for conduits.” He explains, thinking about the scene inside. “Don’t try to play her. Just be her friend.”

“What do you expect me to _do_?”

“Be your usual, charming self.” Will smiles wide.

“I don’t know if I remember how to make friends.” She replies flatly. Will’s mind drifts to Cassie Boyle and he expects Abigail is thinking much the same.

“Not _that_ way.” Will scolds. “This is a friend you might get to keep.”

“I had those, too, you know.” She huffs. “Stop pretending you don’t hate this, just because your friend gets to train me.”

Will doesn't know what Abigail is feeling and it’s somewhat refreshing to empathize without his natural gift. It could be jealousy, which is always described as an _ugly_ emotion. Will finds the description unfair, or lacking at least. Jealousy exists on the same plane as love. It's an all-encompassing emotion that wraps up the body, like one of Abigail's scarves; too tight around the neck. Controlling and a loss of control. It's the second part that really bothers people, their emotions spilling out onto others.

Few like to be controlled, to lose control.

Perhaps Abigail is jealous, then. Jealous that Will can be outside, with these people, when she cannot. Jealous that there are people in his life that aren't her. Jealous that Will has the control that requires Abigail to receive training in the first-place. Likely it’s just boredom manifesting into all of these things.

“I do hate training.” He finally says. “I hate training and I hate compromises and, right now, I’m not too fond of Jack, but I love you, Abigail.” He muscles through the confession, glad he can’t feel whatever she’s feeling; rejection or acceptance, he doesn't know which is worse, but they’re both too frightening to consider. “You deal with things you don’t like for people you love.”

Abigail is quiet for a long time. “You don’t have to deal with it,” she finally says, voice quietly petulant, and Will grimaces.

“No,” he sighs, “I don’t.” He doesn't mention that he has to deal with keeping her secrets and Hannibal’s. He has to deal with whatever crime scene is waiting for him, without an escape, now, because he _has_ to deal with people like Jack to keep people like Abigail safe. Has to deal with more people than he ever had in his life and how to sort it all out in his head without running away. The sheer _responsibility_.

And now, apparently, has to deal with the mood swings of a conduit in the apex of her teenage years.

He doesn't mention any of this because it won’t help the girl on the other end of the phone and, sometimes, people just want to be listened to.

“Will?”

Will starts from his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Go back inside,” she snorts, “I’ll be nice, promise.”

“Thanks, Abigail.” Will doubts there will be a problem when the two women meet face-to-face, but he appreciates the sentiment. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Will,” and the next part is rushed and quiet and Will isn't sure he was meant to hear it at all, “I love you, too.”

Will looks at his phone for a long time.

 

* * *

When he’s settled back in front of his water, magically transformed by the power of Beverly’s intuitive forensic instincts he supposes, the woman asks if he was talking to Doctor Bloom. “No, saying goodnight to Abigail. She told me you were training her.”

Beverly raises an eyebrow. She's an investigator, evidence first, but he can feel the conflict in her. A young conduit just manifested into her powers. There was a reason Will had suggested Beverly. This is personal for her, too, even if she won’t admit it. She says nothing, for the moment.

“Why did you think it was Alana?”

“You’re not very friendly, Graham, but you two seem close.” She shrugs. “She and Jack asked me about the training thing yesterday and you hadn't mentioned it so I just figured.”

“Thanks for agreeing.” Will says quietly.

“As a lesbian conduit with no chance to adopt, this may be your only chance to pass on knowledge to the next generation!” Price points a finger at her. “So don’t fuck it up.”

She snorts. “Oh, like you can talk!” She must kick him under the table because he’s wincing a moment later. Before Will can protest, she grabs his phone. “Wow, I wasn't wrong.”

“What?” Will snatches his phone back, shoving it in his pocket.

“Will.” She looks at him, face quite serious. “There are only six people in your phone, besides Jack, and one of those people is me.”

Will thinks it won’t help his case to mention that the ‘David’ in his phone is actually a neighbor who takes care of the dogs when he’s away on cases and, therefore, doesn't technically count as a friend.

“I’m inviting Alana.” Beverly nods once, grabbing her own phone and standing to head for the bar. She covers the receiver with a hand. “You should call Hannibal! Might loosen you up a bit. Keep us from talking about politics. Oh, hey! Alana Bloom? Katz, Beverly Katz!” With that she saunters to the bar, leaving Will to fish for his phone and stare at it awkwardly.

“She likes her.” Price coos from across the table. “I must tease her, relentlessly.”

“Leave her alone, Jimmy.” Zeller tugs on his ear. “This was a rough one.”

Price sighs. “ _Fine_ , if you insist.”

Price smiles at Will when Zeller looks away and Will smiles back, opening his phone.

* * *

Hannibal is heading home from his last appointment, but promises to come by after he showers and doesn't that just send Will down a trail of thoughts he'd best leave alone? Alana comes right out, however, hair down and seeming to enjoy the company.

They've pulled up a few chairs to accommodate the larger party and Will sits in one of them, allowing Alana the seat beside Beverly, who shoots him a winning smile. Despite Zeller's best efforts, they're shortly back to talking politics, now with Alana backing Price and Beverly throwing her arms up dramatically. Will feels practically normal. It almost doesn't register when Hannibal enters the bar and it's only the other man's name being called that draws the group's attention.

Hannibal is on the other side of the room, talking to a shorter man and looking mildly uncomfortable.

"What's going on, Will?" Beverly turns in her seat to examine the scene.

"Looks like a friend." Will shrugs.

"No, it doesn't." Zeller snorts. Will thinks the man is growing on him.

"Go on, give it a go." Price elbows him and Alana looks at him sharply.

Will doesn't bother to tell him he's only been able to read Hannibal once in their acquaintanceship. A forceful pull at the other man's memories used to kill someone else and now that he thinks about it, that explanation probably won't go over well with Hannibal, either. Especially when he throws in the bit about keeping one of his memories as a good dream for lonely nights. But then, he thinks, what's the harm in trying again?

With that in mind, and a little encouragement from his co-workers, all smiling save one, Will stretches his mind out like a canvas. He is startled when he hits, not a wall, but a flux of emotions. He comes back to himself like a whip, is made giddy by the extreme sensation of reading what was once blocked to him. Will grins manically, leaning over his water a little and Alana eyes him, warily.

"You been sneaking drinks, Graham?" Beverly questions.

"No just," Will wipes a tear from his eye, "thought of something funny." He straightens up and takes a long gulp of water.

"You keep drinking that, yeah?" Beverly laughs, grabbing Alana's arm and urging her out of the booth. "Tell Hannibal we're doing conduit tricks at the bar for free drinks."

Will nods them off and waits for Hannibal to sit down beside him. When he does, Will is giggling, holding his head. Hannibal touches his face, clearly examining him, and Will pulls back a little.

"I'm fine." Will manages through his laughter, "I _read_ you. Well, you and him," he motions to the man now seated at the bar, surreptitiously glancing at them between sips of his cocktail. "It was like a bug when you open the cabinet and find it's invaded the house. That was how you saw him."

"That was very rude, Will." Hannibal's mouth is down turned.

"I know," he sobers a bit, unable to stop giggling completely with the high octane emotion still coursing through his body and making him feel drunk. "I admit," he rests his chin on a closed fist, "I was curious."

"It is fair. I have often times found myself curious about you."

Will mock preens. "But only one of us is an empath."

"I have been told I am not an easy man to read."

"You have been told correctly, sir. It's," Will smiles, "interesting." His eyes drift to the man at the bar again, "He is _not_ an interesting person."

"Yes, thank you, I've sussed that out for myself." Hannibal responds, flatly.

Will smiles, too sweetly. "You know, just helping out a friend."

Hannibal returns the smile, lifts his glass, "To helping out friends, wherever we can."

Will drinks his water in silence, smirking around the rim, his eyes locked with the bug at the bar.

* * *

Will  _does_ try to duck out with Hannibal when he leaves, but even he admits he's still feeling slightly high from his read on the man, so when Beverly coerces him to stay, he acquiesces. Hannibal sees this and asks Will to text him when he arrives home safely for his own peace of mind. Will may have projected how endearing he found that, but if he did, Hannibal didn't seem to mind.

It's only 11 o'clock by the time they actually leave and Zeller whines something about how old they’re getting. Beverly twirls Alana around on the street, singing 'oil and light, oil and light' between attempts at presenting a visual of the trick the two of them had managed to pull off at the bar. Alana is turning to Will to explain how it worked when the other woman pulls her into a kiss. She looks startled but breaks away laughing, tripping a bit on the way to the car.

“Beverly! Alana!” Price calls across the parking lot. “Tell Zeller he has to drive me home!”

“Sorry, I’m not a couple’s counselor!” Alana calls back, winking over the car at Beverly before ducking into the passenger seat of Beverly’s car.

"Fine, fine, 'll give you a ride," Zeller throws an arm over Price’s shoulders, dragging him in the opposite direction with a backwards wave. Will is left standing between the two cars, trying to remember where his own is parked.

“Come on, Will.” Beverly snorts, resting on the hood of her car, chin on her arms. “Drive us home! You and Alana can crash at mine. It’ll be a slumber party!” She chirps.

“Yeah? Well, I’m only staying to tuck you in.” Will rolls his eyes, opening the back door for Beverly and practically shoving her in.

“Oh, a true and noble gentleman!” He hears two sets of girlish giggles from inside the car and rolls his eyes. He tries to open the front door.

“Dammit, Katz, unlock the door!”

* * *

Will deposits Beverly in her room and Alana is sprawled on the couch in a pretty ridiculous-looking set of penguin pajamas that she looked delighted over.

Will sits on the arm of the couch and briefly considers adding the taxi service in Baltimore to his cell phone contacts. He uses it often enough, now. Before he can call, Hannibal’s name appears on the screen. A text, no doubt, to check in. He rubs his thumb over the screen and chuckles a little, letting his mind wander down a path he’s been stalwartly avoiding.

He thinks of Hannibal’s hands, the first time they shook his and gripping tightly. Those times he may not have needed to help Will down from the ladder in the library, but offered it, anyway. Hannibal without a jacket, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and smiling with all of his teeth. Hannibal in a hospital chair, Abigail between them, her smaller hands in theirs.

He thinks of all the little touches that Hannibal gives him. A hand on his neck to straighten his collar, a brush of fingers to fix his hair. He’s never had to shake them off from anyone else and he thinks he may have been starved for them, the way he reacts to Hannibal's. Stretching into them, sometimes, catlike and content.

Alana flips over and stretches out, her head near his lap and her thoughts in his own, spilling out like oil on the sand.

_Hannibal, above him, shirtless and mouth half-open. When they flip, he grabs the back of Will’s neck hard and pulls a little at the place where hair meets scalp. Will lets out a long hiss and his voice isn't his own._

Alana’s mind is somewhere else but her lips are on his, soft and delicate and Will falls into her thoughts, mirroring, grabbing the back of her neck like a vice. When she is out of breath and gasping into his mouth, he realizes what’s happening and pulls away.

"Oh, Will!" Her breaths are shallow and she’s still slightly drunk, from the beer or the kissing, he doesn't know. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I was dreaming and I thought,"

"No, no, it's fine." Will blushes, grips the phone in his hand tighter. "I have to go."

"Tell the dogs hello." She smiles awkwardly and watches him stumble out.

* * *

"I kissed Alana Bloom" Will shoves past Hannibal and heads straight for the kitchen.

"Come in, Will." He hears Hannibal shut the door behind him.

"She was dreaming and I didn't have my guard up," Will pours a glass of water and drinks it down. "Either she was dreaming about you or you called and I was just thinking about you. It’s all messed up, up here." He fists his other hand in in his hair and laughs a bit manically.

"What was it you saw, Will?" Hannibal steps into the kitchen, beside him.

“You.” Will grips the glass tighter, a lifeline for what little good it does. He's too close. Too close. “You slept with Alana Bloom.”

Hannibal grabs the glass to set it down on the counter. “There was a time-”

"Can I kiss you?" Will interrupts, neck stretching upward, breathing in the other man’s space.

Hannibal doesn't even look, just turns his head to seal his mouth over Will's, tracing a finger over the line of his hair. His mind is a stone.

Will’s hands fumble over Hannibal's tie, clasp at the lapels of his vest and pull him in closer. Hannibal's hands grip his wrists and, for a strangled moment, Will thinks he may move them apart, but he squeezes, manipulates their bodies until they are turned, the back of Will's thighs pressed against the kitchen island.

Will’s never been self-conscious about kissing, having a literal guidebook to how the other person is feeling in his head and also not having done it very much, but his lips feel chapped against Hannibal’s own and he’s not sure where his tongue’s supposed to be so he keeps it safely tucked behind his teeth. Hannibal touches the back of his neck and he’s felt that before, remembers it gripping harder, almost too tight for comfort. He pulls out of the kiss and ducks down, head tucked under Hannibal's chin and hands fisted into the man's shirt.

Will starts when Hannibal rests his forehead against his own. "How do you feel, Will?"

Will thinks about this, pulls Hannibal closer to him. "Quiet."

_Safe._

His phone chimes from his pocket and Will extricates himself from Hannibal to read the texts that accumulated on the drive over. Another goodnight from Abigail and an apology from Alana.

"You can stay if you like."

"I should go back," Will knows he's blushing at the invitation, shoves his phone back in his jacket pocket, "feed the dogs." When he thinks his face may be a few shades lighter, he raises his eyes to Hannibal's and repeats his words from earlier, somewhat curious this time. "You slept with Alana Bloom.”

“I did.” Hannibal chuckles. “Quite a long time ago.”

Will narrows his eyes."So you’re not still-”

“No.” Hannibal cuts him off firmly.

“Good.” Hannibal looks surprised and Will backpedals. “I mean, not good that you’re not,” he backs up physically, as well, “what we did was okay if you’re not, you know?” The buzz he felt earlier is in full force, like white noise in an echo chamber. He pushes against the dull, pulsing light and hears the little girl from his dreams laugh back at him. It’s something like happiness and Will is euphoric to be able to see into the man’s mind again. The thought comes to him suddenly. "Does your mind have to be blank to mimic powers?"

"In a sense." Hannibal runs a hand through Will’s now undoubtedly mussed hair and his heart beats double time. He’s wound so tight he’s afraid to blink. “I do not forget powers I have learned, but I am a manifest. Control does not come naturally to me.”

 _More power than control._ Will thinks Hannibal and Abigail have more in common than he knew.

"Interesting."

"Is it?" Hannibal is staring at Will's lips and Will isn't sure the other man is even listening anymore.

"Yeah," he stops himself just short of pressing against Hannibal's smile. He's done enough of that tonight, “okay.” He bumps into the table as he turns to leave and he’s pretty sure Hannibal is trying not to laugh behind him. “Okay, goodnight, Hannibal.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW! They finally kissed! And Beverly and Alana did, too! _And_ Will and Alana! EVERYONE is kissing and nothing hurts! For now, anyway.
> 
> I’m sure it’s obvious but, in case you were wondering, the seven people in Will’s phone are Jack, Beverly, Abigail’s clinic, Hannibal, David the dog sitter, Alana and his sister, Molly (saved as Molly and Hunter). Molly and Hunter will be appearing a little later, along with Molly’s powers. If anyone wants to take a stab at what said power might be, have a go in the comments! Hint: It’s a strange one!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly calls Will for advice on Abel Gideon. Abigail begins her training. Will reflects on what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m sorry about the long break (I didn’t make it to two years but I was nearly there). My attention was drawn to life and other fandoms. I got a few questions in comments, during the break. In case anyone else is ever curious about the status of this fic, you can always check my profile for alternate ways to contact me :D
> 
> Thank you all, so much, for reading this and leaving such nice words. Let’s cross our fingers for a season four, shall we?

Will spends most of that night, and the next morning, not thinking about kissing. Alana or Hannibal.

He cooks for himself, and the dogs, and gets dressed. He even manages to check in on Abigail. He’s called her too early, she’s still groggy, he’d go as far as to say cranky if he’d kept her on the phone longer than a ‘Good Morning’.

It only hits him when he’s driving. Will doesn’t listen to music when he drives. His car is old, handed down from a neighbor who’s passed away since. He’s pretty sure if the day ever came where he _felt like_ listening to something, the beat up tape deck would give him trouble and, anyway, the radio never picks up anything he enjoys.  

So, it hits him when he’s driving. Concentrating on the road.

Will considers blaming alcohol, if Hannibal asks. Maybe he won’t. Too polite. He wonders if anyone is _that_ polite, but no, Hannibal is. Still..surely he’ll mention it, at least as a _concerned_ friend. And whether he admits to it or not, Hannibal is, in all the ways it counts, a psychiatrist. There will be...professional curiosity.

And Will would have to tell him he wasn’t drunk. Just high on whatever it was he drew out of Hannibal’s head, the feedback from Alana’s dream. Too comfortable with people for the first time in...how long?  He considers this, tapping the steering wheel. He hasn't had any close friends for...years. As for a friend he couldn’t _read_?

There had been other empaths; people he hadn't felt the need to guard himself around. They were rare, but they existed. They weren’t...friends. Just people who understood, that was all. And what they understood was you don’t see me and I don’t see you. _I’ll keep mine hidden, so long as you do too._.

No risks, no expectations. Had he set himself up for an expectation?

Probably.

Will grinds his teeth and turns on the radio, catches some choir fading into the beginnings of a sermon. He turns the dial until it hits static. The white noise accompanies him to Quantico.

* * *

Alana visits Will before his classes the next day. He can read the apology on her face before she opens her mouth to speak.

“Will-”

“It’s fine.” He waves her off. “I’m not sure what happened," the lie rolls easy off his tongue, "but I know you weren’t completely awake.” Alana blushes.

“I could have been,” Alana offers weakly, “if you’d like.”

Will pauses in setting up his classroom and thinks about what she’s _actually_ offering. Two natural conduits, two intelligent people who understand each other. A beautiful woman who is more of a dog person and challenges him in new and exciting ways.

And, drunk, asleep or otherwise, Alana had been very kissable.

The thought of kissing makes him think of Hannibal and that’s a different matter entirely, more complicated and simple in one. Complicated because the drive hadn’t helped and he has no idea what he’s expected to do the next time he sees him, talk about a crime scene or press him against the wall; use his lips for more interesting things. Simple because this was the man with whom he now shared all his secrets with; Abigail, his family, his fears, his sometimes embarrassing love of pink lemonade.

He looks at Alana Bloom now, and knows, to her, much of this supposed simplicity would be a burden, not a gift.

Risk and expectation, his thoughts turn sour.

“You’re a very nice person, Alana.”

"Is this the 'it's not you, it's me’ talk? It feels like it's that talk."

He shuffles awkwardly. "I think it's that talk."

Alana holds back a laugh with her hand. "It's okay, Will. I'm just glad you're not angry."

"Why would I be angry?"

"You don't really seem the type to..."

"Date?" He offers.

"Let someone in." She’s biting her lip. He wonders if it's intentional. "I know it can be hard, with your gift."

Will remembers Hannibal and his mind like a prison gate. Someone like that had let Will in. Perhaps, he considers, he has never been the problem. For a sadistic moment he wants to grab Alana's face and share his memories. The feeling passes and he smiles.

"It can be." He agrees. "But kissing's nice."

Her face is still red and she smiles, a little bemused. "Thanks, I think." Whispering behind her hand, "I have to admit I don't remember much. I'm pretty sure I kissed Beverly."

"Oh, I'm _very_ sure you kissed Beverly." He laughs at her expense and she blushes harder, slapping his arm.

"Shut up, Will. We're not teenagers, anymore! You are all terrible influences."

"I know." He wipes his eyes behind his glasses. "I’m sorry.”

“We should spend more time together." Her smile is affectionate.

"We should." The students are piling in now and she nods at a few of them. "Later, though. Send Beverly my best, okay?"

Will waves her out, ignoring the indignant scowl on her face.

* * *

Will receives an email from Price marked ‘URGENT’ and makes his way to the crime lab for his lunch. “Beverly,” Price’s head is bent over a shoeprint in soil when Will enters, Zeller at his side, passing a light slowly, over the ridges, “Will’s here.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Beverly groans. She’s at the same table, though her head is on the desk, cradled in her arms, “Will, I need an aspirin.”

“You didn’t seriously bring me down here for that?” Will reaches into his pocket anyway and uncaps the bottle.

“No, it’s the Gideon case.” Beverly raises her head and Zeller immediately takes the opportunity to shine the light in her eyes. She winces, taking the aspirin from Will and downing it dry. “Jack said we’re keeping you off of this until we’re sure we’re looking at a conduit, but we could use an extra set of eyes.”

A part of Will is secretly glad Jack listened to him, that the man is being cautious in how much faith he has stored in Frederick Chilton. Another smaller part of him feels jilted for having this kept from him specifically. Hidden, almost.

“Thanks,” Will smiles, weakly, “I’ll take a look at the file.”

Will sits in a corner chair, flipping through the new information from Chilton. Zeller takes turns shining his small flashlight on the shoe print and on Beverly until Price orders her to suck the light out of it, both promising to let him have it back when they think he will use it responsibly.

“He brings up his therapists a lot.” Will mentions, drawing Beverly’s eye. She walks over, leaving a bickering Price and Zeller with a non-functioning flashlight. “Alana’s listed on here.”

“I know.” Beverly crosses her arms defensively. In Will’s mind, brightness flares up around her. “She’s been to see him again, since this started.”

“She hadn’t mentioned.” Will looks up, briefly.

“Jack had me bring her out earlier this week so she could ask me about Abigail, too.” Beverly admits with a shrug. Will wonders if Alana and Beverly’s private conversations have followed the same pattern as Hannibal and himself; Abigail and case. “She thinks Chilton’s been messing around with his head.”

He doesn’t mention that’s close to Hannibal’s assumption. He was her mentor, after all.

Among other things, he bites down on the thought.

“Should we be concerned?”

She lowers her voice. “We may not believe that Gideon’s the Ripper. Hell, _Gideon_ might not believe it. But if we let the Ripper think we believe it..”

“You think Jack wants to use this.”

Jack wasn't made head of the BAU for nothing. In Will’s experience with the man, he'd been fair and evenhanded in his suspicion. Even now, asking everyone around Abigail to keep an eye on her with good reason. But with the Ripper, Jack seemed as lost as a trainee. Guided by emotion and his ‘gut feelings’.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Beverly comments, adding quickly, “in theory. The Ripper’s an egoist. He’s not going to like this. And Tattlecrime already has an article about it. Freddie Lounds is practically doing the legwork for us.”

Will lets out a breath through his teeth. “She’s going to get someone killed.”

“Do you get that way with everyone you,” she holds her hands up and pushes them out, “you know? Zap?”

“What way?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Fond.” Beverly leans against the side of the chair.

“Oh,” Will starts, “um, I’m not _fond_ of Freddie Lounds or anyone else I,” he purses his lips, “ _zap_. I’m fond of you and Abigail, but that’s because you’re both very easy to be fond of.”

Beverly smiles, well, fondly. “Then what is it? There’s something. Like you’re worried. I can tell.”

“I don’t know.” Will laughs. He’s never been asked these questions. No one’s ever cared to know, he supposes. “I may not like her very much, but I still connected with her on a mental level. I understand her. It’s why I can do what I do.” He shrugs. “I don’t like the killing, I understand it.”

Beverly lets him read for a few more minutes before speaking. “My nightmares are gone, by the way. Just the normal rotation now.”

“Yeah?” Will takes off his glasses and sets them on top of Gideon’s file.

“Last night I dreamed about picking pumpkins with my parents.” She laughs. “Two angry Koreans passive-aggressively celebrating Halloween. It’s a different kind of nightmare.”

“Let’s hope it sticks.” Will huffs a laugh.

Beverly eyes the file. “I hope I’m wrong, Will. I hope you don’t have to,” she sighs, “understand the Ripper for a while.”

He places it in her waiting hands. “Guess we’ll see.”

* * *

They don’t have to wait long. That afternoon, a more _informed_ article is posted on Tattle-Crime.com and, the following morning, Will gets a series of harried texts from Beverly and Alana. There’s only one from Jack, telling him that Miriam Lass had called.

 _Miriam Lass_.

He supposes he has her to blame for his nightmares and the new stress that is his life. Will is used to keeping secrets, but nothing like what he’s been carrying for the past few weeks. His unspoken alliance with Freddie Lounds, this new  _whatever_ it is with Hannibal, Hannibal’s powers, the truth about Abigail. Is that all of them? He can’t count them anymore.

He’s started to build forts around his secrets and the mention of the Reader, once thought-dead, reminds him to mortar the walls.

Jack brings Will in to prove the calls are real, that he’s not insane, and any condescension Will wants to draw out about the article is lost when he feels the grief flowing out of the man. He doesn’t ask and he won’t, until the case is over. Whatever Jack is doing here is fueling him. Propelling him away from the focus of his feelings.

Will watches Jack speak to Hannibal, from a distance. There are more calls and a stack of evidence and, for a shining moment, there is hope.

There is hope until there isn’t. Until they enter the observatory and find Miriam’s arm.

* * *

“He wants me to _read_ it.” Will presses the speaker button on his phone and sets it on the counter.

"Are you irritated or concerned?"

“Neither," he lies then quickly amends, "Both," with a hiss, tearing his coat off and tossing it on a chair.

He doesn’t examine why he called Hannibal after he left the scene without warning (though the lack of thought kept him from worrying about awkward silences and stilted conversation, at least). He probably should have called Jack, or at least texted him to let him know he was heading home. “Lass has been presumed dead for half a year. The Ripper doesn’t leave evidence on a _normal_ scene.” He laughs. “This one he’s been planning for _months_."

“The death of Miriam Lass was deeply personal for Jack. I'm sure it's something you were made aware of even before you joined his team." And then, "Are you nervous about what you might see, reading the Reader? Or does the dead Reader herself concern you?"

"I can't read what isn't there." Will shrugs, very obviously ignoring the second question.

"You believe there will be nothing left?" He prompts. "No focus?"

"Like I said, whatever the Ripper did was long ago. Memories, fond and faded." Will braces himself against the counter. "We don't even know his _skill set_. Tell me I'm not reading this wrong, Hannibal. There's something else going on with Jack."

“You know I can’t talk about that, Will.” Hannibal’s scold is firm through the speaker, fills his small kitchen.

"I know." Will lets out a small sigh. "Sorry."

“You’ve spent a fair bit of time examining the Chesapeake Ripper case file.” Hannibal directs them back.

“And I’m no closer to understanding what’s going on in his head.” Will rubs the space between his brows.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Hannibal responds lightly. “You and Miriam Lass are the only two who have been able to predict his actions, so far.”

“A lot of good it did her.” Will’s laugh is deep and dark.

Hannibal is silent for longer than Will is used to before he replies. “Would you like to come to dinner?”

"What?" Will glances at the clock above his sink. It’ll be near nine before he reaches Baltimore again. “Right now?”

“I hope you’ve already eaten.” Hannibal's chuckle is throaty, and Limerick tilts his head at the sound. “Tomorrow night?”

Will stares at the phone for a long moment.

“Will?”

“What?” He blinks, pets down Limerick’s back in absent-minded strokes. “Yeah, tomorrow sounds good.”

* * *

It isn't until he's having lunch with Alana and Beverly the next day (and Price is right, Katz has it bad; Will can see Beverly shine a little brighter every time Alana laughs at something the other woman says) that it hits him.

Dinner. Tonight. With Hannibal.

They invite him for drinks, later, and he knows he doesn't _have_ to tell them why he's declining but not saying feels...wrong somehow.

A small wrinkle forms between Alana’s eyebrows. Processing new information. She recovers quickly. “Lucky you. Hannibal's food is better than any restaurant's. Send him my best."

“See if you can sneak out a Tupperware.” Beverly looks thrilled, though Will tries his best not to notice. To her credit she tries  _her_ best to change the subject. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow. You gonna be there for moral support?” She's smiling, but he can feel her nerves.

Oh. Abigail.

He'd been so wrapped up with Jack and Gideon and Miriam and...Hannibal, he'd nearly forgotten. It was so easy to turn it off sometimes. To become a different person.

None of this he says to them. Only smiles and raises his glass. Nods to let them know he's still listening.  

* * *

Abigail answers the door when Will arrives. His first thought is, ‘Thank God we're not alone,’ followed closely by, ‘Did he not invite me to be alone?’

"Hannibal sprung me!" She links her arm through his and guides him through the foyer.

"Criminals, both of you." Will says. He isn't sure if these are the right words, safe words, until she smiles up at him, immeasurably pleased.

His initial shock must still show on his face when they reach the kitchen. The first words from Hannibal’s lips are an apology. "Forgive me, Will. Abigail's presence tonight is something of a surprise, I'm sure."

Abigail hops on one of the stools, comfortable in the kitchen, as though she’s been here before. Perhaps she has.

"It's fine." He lays his coat across the back of a chair and watches Hannibal’s eyes train to it, just for a moment. “Do you have a closet around here? I was absconded before I could hang it up.”

“Abigail?” She looks up from the stack of dishes in front of her. “While you’re setting the table, would you take Will’s jacket to the coat closet?”

Abigail is silent for a moment, chewing the side of her lip. Will pokes at the edge of her mind and feels a slight tension; she’s weighing her options, like a teenager given a task before they’re allowed out. Finally she smiles and it _looks real_. “Sure thing!”

Will watches her leave with his jacket over her head like a fort. “Part of your...unconventional therapy?”

“Apart from her recreational activities with Garrett Jacob-Hobbs, Abigail was an ordinary teenager. She had chores, an allowance, a curfew.” From across the kitchen, Will can’t see what Hannibal’s creating, but it looks like a salad. He crosses the few feet to get a better look and, yes, it’s a salad. It looks very green and red and...that’s all he can tell about it. Food was never his area of expertise, though he did stash the Tupperware Beverly asked after. He jumps when Hannibal crosses his path to the other side of the kitchen. “Now she is inside the same four walls, every day. No change in routine, no surprises.”

“Alana says it gives her a stable environment.” Will turned to lean against the sink beside him. “A _structured_ environment.”

“Stability and structure.” Hannibal shook his head. “And a complete lack of free will. She needs to _feel_ like she’s making controlled choices.”

“How often do you break her out, exactly?” A smile tugs at the corner of Hannibal’s lips and Will tsks. “Alana won’t be happy.”

“Best to ask forgiveness.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Will chuckles. It’s only now that he realizes everything seems very normal. Excessively so. He's seen this dance between others too often. Often enough make him gag. Mixed feelings, noble gestures. Hannibal is still on the other side of the kitchen.

I can’t do small talk. Will thinks, picking at his nails. It’s a good idea. Hannibal might have finger foods, he’s that kind of fancy. He knows I don’t do small talk. That’s why he brought Abigail. It wasn’t a surprise for him, this was planned. To make me feel better, more comfortable. Sneaky.

Ask what his accent is. He stares hard at the nail he’s scraped clean. It’s not small talk, he argues. If he finds out where he’s from, he can translate those words that have been rattling around in his skull every night.

Don’t lie, you’ve wanted to know since he called you Mr. Graham.

“...ringing.” Will looks up with a start. Hannibal’s face is very close. If Will takes one step forward, only a breath…

He pulls his glasses off, looking away with a blink. “What?”

“Your phone. I believe it’s ringing.”

Will fishes his phone out of his pocket. The light is blinking in the top right corner. When he looks up Hannibal is back at the opposite side of the kitchen. It seemed farther away, before.

“I’m going to just...check this.”

“Of course, Will.”

Will nods, walking towards the dining room where Abigail is examining a knife and fork, side by side.

“And Will?” Will turns back, his hand on the entryway, “I _do_ apologize that we're not alone tonight."

* * *

Will finds Hannibal’s back porch before he checks his voicemail. A parlor would probably be the ‘polite’ location, but he could use the fresh air. When he sees it was Molly who called, his worry lets up. Not a case, probably something trivial. _Remembered you existed today, thought I’d drop a line._

He had disappeared in his own mind. A caution of the trade.

His breaths are deep. It generally takes a while to come back down from one of his episodes and yet he feels...normal, by his standards, only a few minutes later.

This is how Hannibal affects him. He feels safe here.

It worries him, how close to normal it makes him feel.

Abigail and Hannibal are at the dinner table when he finds his way back to the dining room. “Sorry. My sister.” He motions to his phone in explanation.

Abigail is immediately interested. “You have a sister?”

“She was inviting me to Hunter’s birthday party. She said I could bring people.” He tacks on, can hear the note of encouragement and hopes it registers to Abigail.

“Your nephew.” Hannibal unfurls his napkin and a smile.

“You have a nephew?”

“Yes.” Will sits, tucking his napkin in more slowly.

“Do you think I’ll be allowed to go?”

“To a five year old’s birthday party?” Hannibal is biting his lip, probably to keep from laughing at her enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe you remember his age.” Will snorts into his wine and Hannibal shoots him a disapproving look.

“I always wanted a little brother.”

Will coughs, feels the tinge of sadness there. “What are we celebrating tonight?”

“Abigail’s first training session is tomorrow.” Hannibal tilts his head at her and she sits up straighter. Will thinks of Beverly, solving mysteries still hung over and chuckles to himself. “This may be our calm before the storm.”

The salad has a sour tang and Will can tell there’s some sort of cheese in it, at least. This was not the first time Hannibal had fed him, but the feeling was different. He closes his eyes, under the guise of enjoying his food, and reaches out with his mind. There’s a carefree feeling that wraps around him, immediately. The overwhelming feeling of belonging. Family.

“You’ll be amazing.” He raises his glass, trying for supportive.

Hannibal’s, “Here, here,” is more solid.

“Thank you.” Abigail raises her own glass. Will stares at it for a moment and she shrugs. “It’s juice.”

He touches his glass to hers and feels, for the moment, weightless.

* * *

The doorbell rings when Abigail is teaching Will how to perfectly balance one of the dessert spoons on his nose. Hannibal walks back in moments later, Alana at his elbow.

“Doctor Bloom has come just in time for dessert.”

“No thanks, Hannibal.” She raises an eyebrow at Will. "When I said send him my best, I didn't mean Abigail."

"We signed out correctly.” Abigail’s protest is light-hearted, leaving the ‘this time’ unspoken. Will stares at her behind Alana’s back with raised eyebrows. He knew she could lie convincingly but it still left him shocked, at times.

“You were supposed to have her back by eight."

The smile on Hannibal’s face is far from a lie. “The time ran away from us.”

They watch them leave and Will and Hannibal _are_ very suddenly alone. A situation which Will had spent a large portion of his day intentionally not thinking about and most of the evening was sure he would avoid.

He takes the open coat closet as an opportunity and grabs his jacket. Hannibal, always courteous, only smiled.

It leaves Will agitated.

He doesn’t ask if he can kiss Hannibal this time; he reaches up and presses his lips, tightly closed, against Hannibal’s softer, slack ones.

Is this happening? Is this what you want? Explain to me, I can’t read you. But he refuses to ask these out loud, like a teenager. Even in his youth he never asked something as simple as, ‘Are we dating?’ He supposes he never needed to. Those were questions for people who don’t understand, and that’s exactly what he is now, much as he can’t face it.

And when he pulls back, he can’t face Hannibal, either.

It doesn’t matter. Hannibal _does_ understand. This, at least. “It is whatever you need it to be.”

“I don’t want,” Will laughs, corrects himself,“I don’t _need_ a...boyfriend, Hannibal.” The word sounds as juvenile as he thought it would.

“Then this was a nice meal between friends.”

“Okay.” He takes his glasses off and Hannibal follows the motion with open curiosity. “Whatever I need?”

“Within reason.”

Will looks at him now. He can risk it, he thinks. The look Hannibal is giving him is curious, but it doesn’t hide the contentedness from before.

“I can be reasonable.”

It’s only after he’s in bed, tucked between his dogs, Will realizes he never asked what Hannibal’s accent was.

* * *

The gardens at the clinic are empty and quiet in the middle of the day. They take Abigail here, to train.

“Won’t it be dangerous?” Abigail is staring at the open space as though it's a prison. He remembers the joy there, last night, how easy the smiles came. “Shouldn’t we leave the clinic?”

Will can't tell which woman is more nervous, but Beverly laughs at least. “We’re just going to be doing some breathing exercises. Trying to concentrate on where your power is.”

“Like a focus.”

“Yeah, like a focus.” Beverly looks at Will, somewhat accusing. “Once you find it, you can tamp down or draw from it. Easy peasy.”

Alana pats the space on the bench beside her and Will sits, elbows on his knees.

“You ever seen it from this side?”

“Never as an outside observer.” Alana is watching the pair, a measured distance away, with open curiosity. “I was given the necessary tools required to teach the special cases. Those who couldn't be trained, en masse.”

Abigail and me. Will makes a mental checklist. Hannibal...if she ever finds out.

“From there…” She waves a hand in front of her. “Cases vary but most just need a little guidance.”

He can feel the hairs on his neck raise. Is it a natural reaction or has Abigail found some focus in the room?

“In your...professional opinion, would Jack have hired Hannibal to do what you do? Guide me?”

The look she gives him is odd and, to his displeasure, pitying. “I don't think anyone could guide a Reader who doesn't want to be lead. Even someone with as...gifted a mind as Hannibal. He would recognize the fault in that logic.”

Will remembers the rubber stamp. The sometimes unwanted honesty. “I sense a ‘but.’”

“But,” Alana twists her hands, “I'm sure it was Jack’s _hope_ that one of us, a friend with training, could serve the same role Beverly does for Abigail, now.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“On the contrary.” He watches her shift into a straighter position. Pride, anger...oil around the edges. “I disagreed with Jack’s methods entirely.”

“And I'm sure you told him as much.” Will laughs.

“If you guys are going to keep yapping, can you take it outside?” Beverly is staring at them, hands on her hips and a bright, anxious wash of colors.

“I thought you wanted moral support?” Alana looks ready to argue.

“I changed my mind.”

“All right.” Will stands first, motioning for Alana to follow. “I hear these things are supposed to be private anyhow.”

* * *

"Perhaps you should consider fewer personal visits, if it's going to be a distraction to Abigail's training."

"Alana, Abigail was doing fine.” Will fishes his keys from his pocket. Where had he parked? “ _You_ were distracting Beverly.”

“That's ridiculous.” Alana scoffs, but the slow blush that creeps up her neck tells him she's secretly pleased. “What about you?”

He gives her an incredulous look. “Well, Beverly's very nice but I think you hold her interest well enough.”

“Hopefully she can use what little knowledge I have in teaching Abigail.” Alana nods, hands firmly shoved in her pockets and avoiding the topic entirely. “Yes, I think Beverly will be outstandingly good with her, just as you predicted.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” Her eyes cut away, briefly, but it's telling enough. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Trying to give me advice all the time.” Will laughs, shortly. “You don’t know what you’re doing either.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” Alana regards him. “How was your dinner with Hannibal?”

“We had lamb.” He stares at his keys dumbly, as though they will tell him what to say next. What is her angle? What is she looking for him to say this time? “You showed up. You saw us. It was...fine.”

“So what is it?”

“I don't know.” He answers immediately, and it's the truth, because he doesn't. “I don't have many friends, Alana.”

“I know, Will.” She lays a hand on his arm. “It can't be easy, always knowing how people feel about you. Letting people in.”

“Dangerous is the word you're looking for.” Will raises a brow and it must be somehow charming to her because she blushes. More likely, she's still suffering the effects of Ms. Beverly Katz.

He wants to tell her that Hannibal’s different. That it isn't a chore being around him like it is so many others. It's a relief in many ways. But...she doesn't know. And an unforgiving part of himself is glad for the singular knowledge of their mutual friend. _You knew him first but I know him better_ , it taunts from some vindictive place in his brain.

“What can I say?” Will pats her hand and drops it. “Maybe Jack’s hopes are more fully realized than we thought.”

He doesn't expect the look she gives him. Serious and assessing. “Just be careful, all right? Don’t hurt him?”

He’s briefly startled at Alana’s concern. He had suspected she would corner Hannibal and tell her not to push  _him_ , much the same way she had done Jack. But, then, her relationship is...different with Hannibal.

“You be careful, too.” He turns to his car, schooling his features. “Gideon’s taken an interest in you.”

“I can take care of myself.” He can’t hear Alana walking away, but she already sounds farther off. “I’m viscous like that.”

* * *

Will checks his messages as the truck warms. Two from Jack. The first reminding him to focus on the Ripper now that he’s active, and a more affectionate one telling him to watch his back.

Probably thinking of Miriam. Will reasons and feels a stab of sympathy for the older man.

There’s a text from Hannibal, as well versed as the man himself, thanking Will for the lovely meal and reminding him of his appointment. Will smiles and rubs his thumb over the screen.

_Dinner was nice. I forgot to ask, where are you from?_

He sends the text. Another to Jack, assuring him he’s fine.

He wasn’t lying to Alana. He has no idea what he’s doing with Hannibal but it feels like the right direction.


End file.
